Pick up the Pieces and Take Stock
by Umei no Mai
Summary: Following the Arcobaleno Battles Xanxus tries to get his life back together and makes a friend along the way. (Post-canon, canon-typical violence, crime and child abuse, exploration of trauma and recovery, non-traditional relationships, family fluff.) First in the 'Pick up the Pieces' series. Cover art by mayurei.
1. Chapter 1

This story is written on Fanfiction dot net and published there only. Anybody reading this story on other websites is reading unauthorised copies. Please read this story on Fanfiction dot net where I can see reviews and hit-counts, which tell me how much people are enjoying my work so I can be encouraged to go on writing.

Beta'd (and contributed to) by the ever-lovely Insane Scriptist.

This story is eight chapters long and will be uploaded every day (bar Sunday) until it is completed. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Pick up the pieces (and take stock)**

Squalo was getting his heart transplant today.

Xanxus slumped back in his chair, boots on his desk and swirling the half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand as he stared at the ceiling above him. Six weeks since the shitty effing _disaster_ of the Arcobaleno Mess and only now had Luss finally managed to set things up in Medical and get his hands on a compatible heart. Apparently it wasn't just a matter of compatible blood-type but of proteins matching too, with the more matches the lower the likelihood of tissue rejection.

Squalo would be taking immunosuppressants for the rest of his life and had a great long list of countries he wasn't allowed to visit anymore and foods he couldn't eat, because they could kill him. Which happened to include most of the fish dishes the shark liked best.

All because Xanxus had let himself be _goaded_ into fighting the Vindice. He had scars right around his right arm from having it ripped off then reattached and that was his own damn fault; he'd had it coming for being so Stupid. The wounds on his legs from the 'fight' were no joke either.

He'd almost lost the shark because he'd reacted like a fucking _child_.

He couldn't let that happen again.

* * *

Xanxus had never liked self-help books because they were just telling you to do things without explaining why. He'd had enough of people thinking they were experts screwing up his life for him, so he skipped investigating anger management techniques entirely and went straight for the psychology texts and journals. Being able to control and regulate his anger was all very well, but that wouldn't make the problem go away; he needed to dig into _why_ he was angry and confront the issue at its root, so he could be less angry and more in control.

It was going to be a chore, he knew that going in. But he'd never let that stop him before and not doing something just because it was hard was pathetic and lazy and not remotely Quality.

It was also private, so there was no way he was going to involve any of his Officers or other subordinates in it; it wasn't their business. This was personal, not professional, and as their Boss he couldn't talk to them about it without blurring the lines.

With that in mind, Xanxus decided he was going to do his preliminary reading somewhere outside Varia Headquarters, so Mammon couldn't eavesdrop on him as easily.

* * *

By the time he'd read halfway through the material he'd taken with him Xanxus had run at least ten kilometres up and down across the hillside to work off his rage, thrown the books and journals at rocks and trees over a dozen times and was really, seriously angry about the whole thing. Not that he was going to stop; the list of things he identified with was however miserably long and he wanted to kill quite a lot of people over it.

He'd started with the commentary on why people needed anger management, which had offered him the options of alcoholism –he didn't drink _that_ much, no matter what it looked like– mental illness and PTSD, with the caveat that prolonged anger could cause migraines, digestive issues, anxiety and depression. Which he vaguely knew already but seeing it in black and while was another matter altogether. Then the article had gone into the psycho-social causes of anger issues, citing stress, abuse, poor social or familial situations –hello shitty upbringing inflicted on him by the old fart– and a history of trauma, with a specific citing of sexual trauma.

Xanxus didn't _think_ he'd ever experienced what this article was defining as 'sexual trauma', but he was uncomfortably aware that repression was something the brain did when it couldn't cope and while he'd activated his Flames aged five, it wasn't impossible that something bad had happened to him before then. His mother hadn't exactly been in any fit state to protect him, what with her own issues.

So after he'd worn down his anger running a few kilometres he'd gone looking for psychological trauma in the textbook and upset himself some more ticking off viable option after viable option. Psychological trauma involving physical trauma that threatens one's survival and sense of security, check –that fucking ice– harassment –his entire upbringing in the Iron Fort probably qualified– abandonment –hi Ma– rejection –Ma _and_ the old fart, go figure– employment discrimination –nobody liked assassins– paternalism –hello again old fart– indoctrination –Vongola upbringing– threat of or witnessing violence especially in childhood –Ma's clients' contributions to his train-wreck of a childhood– long-term exposure to extreme poverty –hello growing up in a slum– and verbal abuse, which his time at the Iron Fort had been full of.

Then there was the bit about childhood trauma increasing the risk of other mental disorders, which had made him throw the book, kick several trees then go for another run before he could continue reading.

It was just more self-inflicted pain from there on in, but by this point Xanxus was committed. 'Violent and victimised attachment figures impact the representations of infants and young children' –hi again Ma– and the detail that childhood abuse –however they were defining that here– had the most complications and serious long-term effects due to occurring in the critical stages of psychological development. Which could, surprise surprise, lead to violent behaviour; they even cited serial murder as a potential extreme, as a reaction to the inability to cope with the stress of certain events or stimuli. Seeing as he didn't seem to have aged while on ice, biologically speaking he was probably still a teenager and therefore likely to be slap-bang in the middle of one of those 'critical stages' mentioned.

Great.

The symptom list was nothing he didn't know already from dealing with variously messed-up Varia but hammered home that yes, he _was_ seriously fucking traumatised and that it was the most likely the root of his anger issues; it even explicitly _said_ that intense anger was a frequent reaction, even in inappropriate or unexpected situations, and that a person could not even realise what their triggers were. Then it went into talking about morphological changes –trauma actually physically affecting the brain– which could be heritable. Not that he was ever planning on having kids, but his Ma's situation was unlikely to have been sunshine and roses even before he was born –he knew jack shit about her background and upbringing but her having been a slum whore wasn't exactly promising– so there was that to look into as well.

Repressed memories also meant that a person could emotionally re-experience the trauma without understanding what was going on, resulting in an alternating pattern of hyper-vigilance and exhaustion, leading to mental health disorders like acute stress, borderline personality disorder, brief psychotic disorder–that last one when he looked it up sounded far _too_ much like what he'd gone through after getting defrosted than he was really comfortable with– all of which could result in emotional exhaustion, detachment, disassociation, depression and _more_ damaging morphological changes.

It was too much to take in all at once, so he'd run it off or tried to. Specific bits kept resurfacing, like the references to complex post-traumatic stress disorder, the mention of betrayal trauma –he fucking _hated_ the old fart for all the shit he'd pulled– and the throwaway mention of transgenerational trauma, as distinct from the heritable morphological effects of trauma.

Right now Xanxus wished he hadn't even started reading into all this shit; the consensus seemed to be that yes, he was fucking broken and that the road to fixing himself would be long, painful and utterly humiliating.

He was Quality. He could do this. He _would_ do this.

* * *

Xanxus was walking up the hill towards Varia HQ, books shoved in a backpack so he could pretend they weren't there, when he heard something. Looking around, he located the source of the noise: one of the abandoned farmsteads bordering Varia land was not currently abandoned. Wandering a little closer, he identified the inhabitant as definitely foreign and probably not a squatter; teenage girls were very unlikely squatters this far from civilisation.

At least, she looked like a teenage girl; realistically speaking she was probably a bit older than that, despite the somewhat haphazard dress-sense. She was sitting on the ground with her back to the wall of the house, throwing rocks across the yard at a post. Her face was shadowed by the floppy floral sun hat on her head, but her hands were clearly visible and far too pale to belong to anybody native to anywhere southwest of Denmark without being a shut-in for years.

"Hey," he said when she looked up properly and noticed him; sunglasses as well as the hat, not even halfway through June? Definitely from somewhere much less sunny than here.

"Hi," she said back, her Italian surprisingly good for a foreigner but her accent making it clear that wherever she'd learnt it, it hadn't been anywhere remotely local.

"Thought this place was abandoned," Xanxus said, actually wanting to get an answer for that. There'd been some old guy living here before he went on ice, but it had been empty and a bit derelict-looking after he got out so this girl –woman? – being here was both surprising and a bit suspicious.

"It belongs to a friend of my friend's grandpa," the woman said, getting to her feet and wandering over his way. Xanxus was still leaning towards 'teenager,' but closer to she looked like she might possibly be eighteen as opposed to fifteen or sixteen. "We wanted to take a year out before university and he offered to let us stay here for free so long as we did some repair work."

"We?" Xanxus asked, well aware he was the only other person present in at least a mile radius.

The woman huffed, looking a bit resigned. "Was going to be three of us," she admitted, "but one of my friends got proposed to by her boyfriend a fortnight beforehand and the other was diagnosed with leukaemia at the last minute, and they both insisted I shouldn't let any of that stop me from taking a break. So here I am."

That… sounded both plausible and vaguely disturbing. "Do you drive?"

She smiled wryly. "No. Not got much money either, so I'm going to need to find a job since I can't live off fruit."

Yeah, this farm had a fruit trees and vines which were going wild; quite a few Varia picked it when they were passing through, so it wouldn't go to waste. Still; limited money, couldn't drive… "Didn't think this through, hm?" Xanxus mused, unable to smother a smirk.

"I only found out it was only going to be me after I was already _at the airport_ ," she told him irritably, "and I was too busy worrying about one of my best friends having _leukaemia_ to really process what that meant for _me_ until after I landed, got a taxi up here and unpacked."

"And now you're stuck."

"Pretty much." She seemed more resigned than panicky about that, but then again he didn't know how long she'd been dealing with this. It might have been half a day or an entire week. "What brings you up here?"

"I live up the hill," Xanxus admitted, feeling a bit better for the ongoing low-effort conversation.

She tilted her head. "Inside that great big wall at the top end of the pasture?"

He nodded. "Big cat sanctuary." Which was ironically one of the –many– cover stories the Varia used, since they did indeed have a large number of not-really-domestic felines and it was a plausible excuse for the three-metre wall. The cats could in theory jump or climb over it –and had in the past– but more recent Mist-work meant they couldn't anymore.

"Sounds exciting."

"Sometimes." Xanxus paused. "Why just sitting around though?"

The woman sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. "I've looked over the buildings and made a list of things that need fixing, and I've got instructions on how to fix most of it," she admitted, "but my friends were the ones with the Italian driving licences and the local connections. So I called them and they're calling people to get back to me, so in the meantime I thought I'd do some reading." She jerked her head back towards where she'd been sitting; Xanxus glanced over and saw there was indeed a book there, lying open face-down in the dust.

"Not to your taste?" He guessed.

She snorted. "You ever think you've pinned down what a problem is and start working through it, then somebody comes along and mentions something else and you realise that actually you've only pinned down half the problem at best and the other half is not only so much worse than you thought it was, but is actively impeding your attempts to solve the first half?"

Xanxus was abruptly and unpleasantly reminded of his recent reading. "That's life," he offered shortly.

"It shouldn't be," she grumbled, then sighed. "Sorry, I'm Florrie."

Oh yes, introductions. "Xanxus," he told her. "A pleasure." Because saying that was polite, even if he wasn't quite sure yet how he felt about having a foreign civilian living just outside Varia land, right in the middle of Varia Territory. It was probably going to get awkward and messy.

Especially since _this_ civilian was a Latent Cloud and strong enough to go Active if pushed. Curious assassins _would_ push and that would be a mess.

"What kind of job were you looking for?" Xanxus asked abruptly, deciding that he might as well find out. He didn't know what skills she might have and any work experience would be minimal since she was a civilian, but at least that meant she'd have no bad habits to unlearn if she could do anything useful. Something that would preferably keep her away from curious assassins and make her seem more boring.

She shrugged. "Foreign language and maths tutoring, bookkeeping work, library-type stuff, painting, gardening, translations; anything I can find that's not too social really. I'm not good at people stuff."

Anywhere else she'd have no trouble with getting tutoring work, but right next to the Varia when half the mooks were supplementing their income with teaching languages to the local kids she wasn't going to find shit. Bookkeeping though… Mammon generally roped various mooks and assassins on punishment duty into doing the data entry part of the accounts and complained constantly about how inconsistent and terrible they were at it. Plus there was the waste of time in checking or redoing it, depending on how terrible and inconsistent it was.

The miser might still complain about handing the data over to an outsider –no way was a civilian going to be allowed _into_ Varia HQ– and having to pay them, but in this instance said outsider being a _foreign_ civilian was actually a good thing. Florrie –short for Florence maybe? – clearly knew nothing at all about the Vongola or organised crime generally, so she'd be less suspicious of an international business with an eclectic portfolio working out of the mountains behind Palermo. Mammon's books were entirely above-board –it was where the money came from and ended up that was crooked– so there'd be nothing in them to arouse her suspicions.

Mammon could provide her with a locked laptop and the boxes of receipts, give a quick lesson on how they wanted things done –while under an illusion of course– and then decide if the results were to their liking after the first batch of work was completed.

"I know somebody who could use an accounts assistant, maybe," he said casually. "I'll ask and see if they're interested."

Florrie beamed at him, all surprise and gratitude. "That's really kind of you, Xanxus, thank-you." She paused. "Would you like a drink? I've got juice and water from the well."

"Juice sounds good," Xanxus admitted; it was hours since he last drunk something and the sun was pretty fierce.

"Come inside then and I'll sort you something out."

Only a civilian would be this trusting; an inexperienced civilian at that, after she'd told him she was here all alone. Or maybe not; he couldn't see a mobile phone so that was probably inside –he really doubted this place had an internet connection– so going indoors might be related to that. The only reason there was a signal all the way up here at all was that the Varia had wanted one and had arranged it; otherwise she'd have been stuck with a landline, which this farm might or might not have.

Xanxus glanced at the title of the book as she picked it up on her way past; it was called 'It Runs in the Family: Healing from Transgenerational Trauma.'

That was a fucking weird coincidence, but it was kind of reassuring to know that it wasn't just him struggling with that shit. Then again, 'family problems' might explain why a barely-adult civvie woman had been willing to spend a year living on a remote farm in a foreign country with just a couple of friends in the first place…

* * *

A week later Mammon had decided that yes, they were going to outsource some of the data entry work –in part so as to discreetly keep an eye on their new neighbour– and the shark was complaining loudly about wanting to get out of bed. Which he wasn't allowed to, since Luss had broken his ribs again putting his new heart in and they needed to heal; he was stuck in that bed for the next month, minimum. It had been bad enough doing the initial reconstruction of the sternum and various ribs over and behind where the shark's heart was supposed to be and the damage to the shark's lungs, but the heart itself… the organ had been shredded. The tissues around it had been no better off, but organ sacs and bones were far less complex and actually possible to reconstruct, unlike his heart.

The summer slowdown was just starting too, what with it being late June, so there were fewer missions on offer and Quiet Week was starting next Monday. Quite a lot of Varia had booked holiday after Quiet Week, so it would be quieter despite the lack of business, but Xanxus wasn't really looking forward to it.

He hadn't really done anything about his reading yet. He'd done more reading and was feeling uncomfortable about it –the complex post-traumatic stress disorder details in particular– and was undecided about what he was supposed to _do_ exactly. All the therapy models on offer involved talking to other people, which Xanxus really was _not_ keen on. He didn't trust any of the Vongola's therapists, couldn't exactly discuss matters honestly with a civilian medical professional and Lussuria wasn't a therapist and was an Officer and a subordinate besides; it would be unprofessional and inappropriate to involve the okama in his unpacking of his childhood issues.

Sighing, he glanced out of the window; it was seven o'clock in the evening but it was bright outside and would be for some hours more. He could go for a walk.

Xanxus was walking down the path towards the no-longer-vacant farmstead below the Varia when he heard crying. Not 'I am in physical pain and can't help myself' sobbing, but the desperate, shuddering wailing of emotional devastation.

He'd cried like that exactly once, the night after finding out that he wasn't really Vongola.

He really didn't want to get involved in somebody else's emotional drama.

Walking past the farmyard, Xanxus noticed that the door of the house was hanging open and that the sounds of broken-hearted despair were actually coming from the dilapidated barn.

There was nothing as achingly lonely as mourning a loss and knowing that nobody else gave a shit.

Was he any better than the old fart if he just ignored it?

Fuck.

Vaulting over the rickety fence, Xanxus strode across the yard and peered cautiously into the barn, then slipped inside. Over in the far corner, curled up in a tight ball in an old sheep pen and shuddering with every wracking sob, was Mammon's new data entry assistant.

Xanxus made his way over to her, lowered himself to the ground –the floor had recently been swept and mopped clean– and gingerly placed his hand between her shoulderblades. She didn't flinch or pull away, so Xanxus kept it where it was, then had a go at rubbing gently up and down a bit.

He didn't know shit about comforting crying women –or anybody really– but he'd taken a turn minding sick Varia on missions a few times –nobody could control when they got ill after all and food poisoning was always a hazard– and the universal consensus seemed to be that having someone rub your back was soothing.

Florrie shifted sideways, just enough so that he could feel her body resting against his thigh, but didn't stop crying. Xanxus went on rubbing her back, trying to ignore the nasty little voice in his head mocking him for attempting to be comforting and staring up at the holes up above that the sunlight was shining in through. She'd have to get a ladder and climb up on the roof to fix those, provided she could even get her hands on some tiles. It wasn't like Mammon was paying her all that much for her work; enough for her to buy food yes, but repair work wasn't exactly cheap even if you did it yourself. She at least had enough to keep the lights on –and thus the well working for water access– as well as to buy cleaning supplies, so she clearly had extra money or possibly a fund supplied by the owner. Which still didn't fully account for the expense of building supplies and transportation, unless her friends' contacts didn't mind ferrying her around and making deliveries.

Xanxus watched the sunbeams track across the dusty air as the woman next to him gradually subsided into incoherent mumbles and whimpering, absently running his hand up and down her spine like he was petting Bester. He only glanced down when she pulled herself up onto her knees and looked at him, her face all blotchy and red and bits of straw clinging to her hair.

"Thank you."

Xanxus grunted, not feeling that this was a situation where 'you're welcome' was an appropriate response. "Feel better?" he asked instead, rising to his feet and offering her a hand up.

She accepted it; she didn't weigh much. "Empty mostly," she admitted quietly, "and a bit resigned." She rubbed at her damp eyes with her sleeve. "I just… it would be nice if my parents had _some_ faith in my ability to take care of myself."

Xanxus considered this, put it together with what she'd told him earlier and came to a plausible conclusion. "They wanting you to come home yesterday?"

Florrie sighed, swaying a little so that her shoulder brushed against his upper arm. "More that they _assumed_ I'd need them to book me a flight home right away," she murmured. "I mean, yes I'm not the most organised of people but I'm not _useless_."

"Didn't take your intention to stay well then," Xanxus deduced.

"No." Her voice hitched halfway through the admission. "I just… I always thought I knew my parents were human, but I've never _felt_ it before," she whispered.

Xanxus considered how painfully relatable that somewhat incoherent statement was. "My father never told me I was adopted," he admitted shortly, "and still can't see why it matters to me."

Florrie glanced up at him. "Can I hug you?"

"Why?"

"Because I feel like shit and a hug will make me feel better," she admitted bluntly, "and I can't think of anything else I can do about the fact we both have insensitive idiot fathers."

Xanxus snorted, amused by the offer and relieved that she didn't pity him. "Okay then."

The height difference made it a fairly awkward hug –he had over thirty centimetres on her– but it was still rather nice. She was completely non-threatening and couldn't have killed him if she'd tried, didn't know shit about Vongola stuff so wasn't trying to worm her way into his favour and was actually trying to be kind in an awkward Cloudy sort of way. The utter lack of shame over her breakdown was… it was encouraging. She really shouldn't trust him this much, but she did and he wasn't going to complain about it when it made it easier for him to keep an eye on her.

"Okay, I need a drink," Florrie decided, finally pulling away. "Want one?"

"Sure." At this rate he wasn't going to get his walk, but this was still a change from staring at paperwork.

* * *

The problem with Squalo being on bed rest in Medical was that Xanxus had to go meet with the old fart on the first day of Quiet Week. Nominally the meeting was to discuss Varia business over the past twelve months and plans for the upcoming year, but the old fart turned it into a session on things he expected Xanxus to do to support the Sky-trash in anticipation of the upcoming handover of the Family, which left the Varia Boss storming out of the room snarling under his breath before they'd got halfway through the _actual_ agenda.

He'd come down on his motorbike so he didn't have to deal with anybody else driving him, which made getting away from the Iron Fort easy enough. He'd have to go back to finish the meeting another day –unfortunately– but right now he just wanted to get _away_.

After about half an hour of driving dangerously up and down winding mountain roads Xanxus felt marginally less furious, so turned the bike around and headed back west towards the Varia.

He was driving through Marineo –carefully since it was market day– when he spotted an unexpectedly familiar sun hat. Stopping on the side of the road, Xanxus tugged his helmet off and reached out to tug on one of the straps attached to the massive hiking rucksack Florrie was wearing as she walked past.

She turned and instantly smiled, which was a nice change from the usual reactions he got when he accosted people who didn't know him very well. "Hi there Xanxus!"

"What are you doing?" Yes this was the nearest town to the Varia –and subsequently her farmstead– but it was still about six kilometres up shitty dirt roads to get back; there was a reason Varia Housekeeping did most of their shopping in Belmonte or Santa Christina Gela rather than here.

"Shopping; I do need to eat you know." She slapped the rucksack. "I can fit the essentials in here, just about."

It was a proper hiking rucksack with a waist strap rather than a shitty school bag, so Xanxus could accept that she probably wasn't going to trash her spine carrying at least ten kilos of supplies up a mountainside. She was wearing supportive hiking boots too, so she wasn't likely to destroy her feet either. She still looked completely out of place, walking around town like a hippy pastel hiker when everybody else was wearing the latest Italian summer fashions and were at least three shades darker in skin tone than she was.

"When did you leave?" Xanxus asked instead.

"About seven? I wanted to get down here in time for the market."

So she'd probably got here slightly before nine; well over an hour ago. "How long's it going to take you to get back up?"

Florrie pulled a face, glancing over her shoulder up at the mountain looming behind the town. "I should be back around one? I didn't buy any fresh or frozen meat, so it'll be fine."

That was ridiculous. "Leave the bag here and go buy some meat," he told her flatly. "I'll give you a lift." She couldn't live off canned fish and cured ham, not when she was doing manual labour most days. She had an overgrown garden doing its thing the last he'd seen and was gradually taming the plant life around the place, since a lot of the repairs required things like lumber for the fence and upper barn walls, tiles for roofing and borrowing tools for fixing things into place with. All that would eat quite a bit of money unless whoever's grandpa owned the place had left her funds or arranged the supplies himself.

She looked a bit alarmed by the offer. "Xanxus I don't have a helmet."

"I've got a spare." It lived in the seat compartment, in case he took a tumble and needed to change helmets.

She huffed and unclipped the waistband, swinging the bag to the pavement with an audible thump. "Fine then."

Watching her weave swiftly through the foot traffic, Xanxus took a moment to wonder what the hell had gotten into him. Why was he doing this?

Was it just because she treated him like a person, rather than like a rabid monster or a misbehaving child?

If it _was_ just that, was it a bad thing? He _was_ a person. One of the trauma papers had been all about how trauma warped a person's self-image, so getting a more 'normal' perspective on himself could be a good thing. Hell, being friendly with a civvie probably counted as therapy.

He'd see how it went and take things as they came. She was only here for a year anyway, so it wasn't like this was a long-term commitment; if it all went to shit he'd never see her again.

Reaching down, Xanxus weighed the rucksack experimentally; more like fifteen kilos actually. That was pretty impressive. It was probably a good idea for him to wear it rather than her, since that way the weight would be over the middle of the bike rather than hanging off the back. Climbing off the seat, he hefted the rucksack up onto it instead and started adjusting the belts and straps.

It really was a very nice bag; the kind of thing you could free-climb up or down a cliff with without worrying about the weight shifting and dislodging you. Xanxus made a mental note of the make and model printed on the fabric, slung it onto his back then opened the motorbike seat to pull out his spare helmet. Hanging it over the handlebars while he clicked the seat down again, Xanxus then set about fastening the rucksack's various belts around his torso, tugging on straps and loosening buckles to adjust the fit for maximum comfort.

It really was shockingly comfortable; way too many dangling straps for regular Varia wear, but the basic shape was excellent. Maybe Luss could come up with something along these lines as an alternative to the standard go-bag for when they had missions out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and had to walk long-distance to find their targets.

"Are you stealing my shopping?"

Xanxus turned around to grin down at Florrie, who had a plastic bag hanging off one wrist. "Weight distribution," he told her amiably; "can't have you falling off the back due to inertia."

"Point," she conceded, "but how do I put the meat in the top when it's all the way up there?" She gestured up over his shoulder, which was indeed not at a comfortable angle for her to reach.

Xanxus obligingly crouched, smirking to himself as she blinked and walked around behind him, then unclipped the top of the bag so she could rearrange the contents to allow for her new purchases.

"There, done," she said once she'd clipped all the buckles closed again. "Now what? I should probably warn you I've never been on a motorbike before."

Xanxus got to his feet and turned to face her, picking up the helmet. "Hat off," he told her. She obliged, revealing her decently-long hair had been fastened in two braids, which tumbled down when the hat came off. She also removed her sunglasses, squinting up at him in the midday sunshine. Xanxus carefully slid the helmet over her head, twisting it a little to make sure it wasn't too loose a fit, then flicked the visor up so she could put her sunglasses back on. The visor was tinted, but if she didn't have a rigid case the best place for the glasses was on her face; they'd get misplaced and probably crushed on the way back otherwise.

Florrie pocketed her hat first, managed to get the sunglasses on then shoved her hair down the back of her lightweight coat. She was probably going to freeze on the back of the bike dressed as she was, but it wouldn't be for very long.

Xanxus paused, then decided it would be funny and took off the rucksack so he could remove his Varia jacket. "Here," he said, handing it to her; "you'll freeze otherwise." He was still wearing his gloves, which was what mattered most for steering.

"And you won't?"

Xanxus bent down and flicked the visor of her borrowed helmet. "Put on the jacket."

She did; right over the top of her other jacket, in fact, which rather highlighted how itty-bitty she was compared to him. She was drowning in the leather, the sleeves covering her hands entirely and the lower edge hanging halfway down her thighs. Xanxus smirked at the picture she made then lifted her up onto the bike –she didn't squeak or squirm at all and even lifted her legs up without him having to say something– checked her feet, strapped her bag back on properly, shoved his own helmet onto his head, climbed onto the bike himself and reached back to grab her hands.

"Hold on here," he told her, placing her hands on the rucksack's padded belt strap just above his hips and making sure she actually got her fingers all the way around it; the rucksack was like an extra person so there was no way she could get her arms around his waist. This was about as secure as they were going to get. "Good; now lean forwards." He felt her do so, her weight pressing the bag into his spine. "Stay like that; when we go around corners you lean with me, got it?"

"Lean with you around corners, hold on, stay leaning forwards," she parroted back to him.

"Good." He kicked the engine into life; this should be fun.

* * *

"You," Florrie said flatly after he skidded into the yard of the farmstead, unclipped himself from the rucksack and climbed off the bike without it, "are crazy. How can you drive like that, my God!"

Xanxus took off his helmet and smirked down at her. "Quick though, wasn't it?"

"I thought we were going to die at _least_ four times!"

Yeah, Xanxus had noticed the way her Latent Flames had fluttered ever so slightly each time. The first time he'd been surprised, but by the third time he'd been doing it deliberately to see if he could make her shriek. Which he'd failed at, but only because Florrie was apparently the type of girl to lock up when she was scared witless rather than screaming.

"You shit, you were doing that on purpose," Florrie accused, tugging her helmet off and glaring up at him.

"Little bit," Xanxus admitted with a grin. "Got here quick though."

"Yeah and I'm trembling so badly I can't get _off_ ," she complained, holding out a hand so he could see it shaking.

Okay, so maybe he'd overdone it a bit. "Where're your keys? I'll take the bag inside," he offered.

"Pocket," she muttered, closing her eyes and sagging back as she fumbled underneath his jacket for the pockets of her own coat.

"Could carry you inside too," Xanxus pointed out lightly as she almost dropped the keys.

"Give me a moment, okay?" she asked, opening her eyes to squint at him. "I'm just… not used to that kind of excitement."

Xanxus stole the keys, hefted the bag and headed over to the front door of the farmstead; the lock wasn't anything special and he could probably have broken in without damaging it, but there was no reason to let Florrie know he could do that. He set the bag on the kitchen floor next to the fridge, then headed out into the sunshine to see if she'd recovered from the adrenaline rush yet.

She'd unzipped his jacket and lifted her feet up a bit, but it was pretty clear she was still trembling; a full-body shudder that made her breath catch and was only slightly removed from an outright panic attack. Definitely overdone it then; he took his jacket off her and put it back on again to give himself time to find something to say. It didn't really help. "Didn't mean to scare you that much," he eventually managed.

"I don't know you well enough to trust you not to kill me with your crazy driving," Florrie huffed, side-eyeing him ruefully. "I mean, clearly you've not killed yourself yet, but I don't know anything about motorbikes other than the fact that there's nothing protecting the rider from getting turned into chunky paste when things go wrong, which doesn't even have to be your fault."

That was fair. Unexpectedly fair even, especially when she knew he'd been messing with her on purpose.

"Can you get off?"

"I can try," she managed to get her leg over the seat on her second try, then slipped down to the ground and almost fell flat on her face when her legs failed to hold her up. Xanxus caught her by the arms before she collapsed into him and lifted her upright, supporting most of her weight as they both looked down at the way her knees were wobbling.

"This has never happened before," she said faintly, tone vaguely bemused. "I usually have to be _really_ ill to go weak at the knees."

Now Xanxus felt like a complete asshole. She'd been nothing but kind to him and he'd terrified her because he'd been in a shit mood and thought it was funny. Shifting one arm around her back and ducking down to slip the other one under her wobbly knees, he lifted her up in a bridal carry and turned towards the house.

"If you wanted an excuse to sweep me off my feet you could have just said so," Florrie commented humorously, making him snort because actually that hadn't occurred to him.

"Let's get you inside, princess," he said dryly, secretly relieved that she didn't seem to be holding a grudge.

"Sounds great; we can eat biscuits and have a drink while my legs get their act together."

Xanxus suspected half the problem with her legs was that they were freezing cold; hiking trousers weren't exactly ideal for zipping along mountain roads at over one hundred kilometres per hour. Once you were moving fast enough how hot the air was didn't matter, it would still leech warmth from every bit of exposed flesh and even through most clothing too. The only reason he hadn't chilled through in just his shirt was that he'd been cheating with his Flames, but Florrie couldn't do that.

"Hey, put my down by my bag, would you? I don't need to be standing up to unpack."

Well the fridge was a small one. "I'll get you a blanket," Xanxus decided, easily lowering her to the floor.

"There're two on the couch," Florrie said, opening the rucksack and removing a packet of pasta and two boxes of biscuits.

Investigating the sitting room revealed the promised blankets, one woven wool and the other synthetic fleece. Xanxus grabbed the fleece one –it would be easier to wash– and took it back to the kitchen, where Florrie was loading meat into the fridge, along with a plastic bag containing fish so fresh it was still twitching.

"Thanks," she said, smiling up at him as he dropped the blanket on her legs and taking a moment to wrap it around herself like a cocoon. "Now I'm not scared witless I'm colder than I thought I was."

"Lent you my jacket for a reason," Xanxus pointed out, picking up the jar of pasta sauce and the bags of rice that she'd left on the kitchen counter and opening one of the higher cupboards to find a space for them.

"Thanks for that," she said, before looking up at him and poking his leg so he glanced down to meet her eyes. "And really Xanxus, thanks for the ride. It would have taken me hours to get home otherwise and I'd have been done for the day afterwards."

Florrie was weird. Shockingly nice, too. "Welcome," he told her bemusedly. She wasn't trying to flirt or anything, she was just that friendly. It was nothing like he was used to and all the more enjoyable for it.

"However next time you offer I'm probably going to say no."

He definitely deserved that. "Sorry," Xanxus managed, switching to English as he added a packet of dried mushrooms and a box of stock cubes to the cupboards in what looked like the right places. "Having a shit day; shouldn't have taken it out on you." Italian as a language really didn't allow for proper apologies; you could say you didn't like that the other person was upset and ask somebody to excuse you but that didn't have the same impact.

"I forgive you," Florrie said after a pause, also in English; her accent indicated that yes, he had guessed her nationality right. "Also your English is amazing and I'd never guess it wasn't your first language."

"Thanks." Most people didn't bother to complement him on his accent, taking it for granted that he'd be fluent in however-many languages since he was Varia. Or just assumed he was local, in the case of missions taken in England.

"Would talking about your shitty day help make it less shitty?" she asked, glancing up at him again as she unloaded a box of fruit from her bag. "I mean, I know I like venting."

Xanxus pondered the offer, putting away another jar and a number of juice cartons. "I work for my father," he began slowly, still in English.

"Your birth-father or the 'didn't tell you that you were adopted' father?"

"Second one." Florrie didn't comment further though, so Xanxus continued. "It's a family business; I always expected to inherit it." No need to bring his brothers into things and complicate matters. "My father never said anything to suggest I wouldn't. Then I found out I was adopted and he finally mentioned he was going to leave the business to his nephew's kid."

"Seriously?"

"Uh-huh."

"What an asshole."

Hey, validation. "Kid's not even fifteen and doesn't know anything about how the company works," Xanxus went on, getting into the swing of things, "and doesn't _want_ the business either. Said as much, several times, publically. But no, he's my father's closest blood relative so he gets the company."

"That's just so short-sighted and arrogant I can't quite believe it," Florrie mused, "except I also can, because I've met men with egos like that. You're trying to get somebody to notice that the whole business is going to go down the toilet once the kid takes over and nobody's listening, are they?"

"How can they not get it?" Xanxus demanded; this total stranger was getting it! It clearly was not just him being paranoid!

"Hey." Florrie hugged his knees, which was as high up as she could reach while sitting on the floor. "It's not your fault. You're doing everything you can; that's all you can do."

"Suppose."

"No, seriously Xanxus; everybody gets to take responsibility for their own stupid decisions. Repeat after me: I've done what I can; it's all I can do."

"I've done what I can; it's all I can do," Xanxus repeated dryly. He hadn't really done _all_ he could, but murdering the old fart wouldn't go down very well in the wider Family.

"So you were blowing off steam after having your very valid concerns disregarded when you ran into me?"

"Had a meeting to discuss the upcoming year, business plans and shit," Xanxus explained, "but the old fart kept bringing up shit he wants me to do to make the transition go smoothly. Because none of our business partners are exactly happy about the kid taking over, customers need reassuring and suppliers are kind of dubious too. So dealing with that is apparently _my_ job now."

"That's garbage; it's his business, isn't it? That makes it his job. Or the kid's job, since he's taking over."

"You'd think," Xanxus grumbled, closing a cupboard with unnecessary force.

Florrie hummed. "Can you bullshit him? I mean, nod in all the right places, say meaningless things like 'that sounds very sensible' and 'somebody clearly needs to' then not actually agree to _do_ anything? I mean, it's clearly _not_ your job so unless he's changed your job description and is paying you for the extra work there's no reason you should do it."

That could work. He only had to get through the rest of the agenda another day this week and then he could make himself scarce and be unavailable for phone calls and messengers for the entire rest of the year, so that the old fart _had_ to delegate elsewhere to get shit done. Asshole would complain of course, but Xanxus was Varia Boss; that shit was _not_ his job and he could say as much.

Treat the Stupid meeting like the old fart was asking his opinion and pretend he couldn't tell the elderly scum wanted him to agree to take shit on; yeah, he could do that.

"How's the business lasted this long if he's that incompetent?"

Xanxus sniggered. "Most work's through long-standing local businesses who'd never _dream_ of going elsewhere; connections have been there for generations, couldn't possibly snub them."

"That sounds stagnant."

"Is." Xanxus sighed. "My branch mainly does international shit; old fart has no clue what that actually involves and thinks the company'd be better off without us, even though we're the only branch bringing in new customers."

"The cat sanctuary's more of a tax thing then?"

Xanxus looked down at her; the wry look on her face indicated that Florrie knew very well what a hodgepodge mess the Italian tax system was and that tax evasion was practically a national pastime. It also suggested she suspected she was being paid under the table and didn't particularly care. Well then.

"You could say that."

Florrie nodded, closing the bag and climbing carefully to her feet; her legs held her weight this time. "Well that's the unpacking done; thanks for helping. Let's get those drinks and move somewhere more comfortable, shall we?"

Xanxus could get behind that.

* * *

Summer was hot and quiet. Xanxus found himself spending several days a week down at the farmstead with Florrie, helping her out with the heavy lifting in the early mornings or late evenings –some of the repair work needed two pairs of hands– and lying around reading or napping during the heat of the day in the relatively cool north-facing kitchen-dining room.

He also found himself talking quite a bit, occasionally about rather personal things. Florrie was a good listener and he got to reciprocate when she was trying to articulate shit about her own family difficulties. It was pretty damn clear she'd had a shit childhood in a way that was very different to his own, but with similarities popping up regularly here and there.

It was nice, being able to talk about things without people acting like it was all in his head. Her books were pretty interesting too; she'd said something about raiding the bookshelf before going on holiday, which implied that a lot of these had been picked by her parents as a result of _their_ shitty childhoods. Which… did very much support the idea that transgenerational trauma and complex post-traumatic stress were things he should take seriously. It was a bit weird really, how much he had in common with Florrie in both those areas.

The time she'd started a conversation with, 'well, my Mum was pretty seriously off the wall when I was little' had been… yeah, not at _all_ easy for him to listen to, but what had hit home was that she wasn't ashamed of any of it. It was what it was, stigmatisation was pointless and she was simply dealing with it.

Xanxus wasn't sure he'd _ever_ be able to talk about his childhood with his mother like that. It was, it just… it _hurt_. That it didn't _have_ to hurt, that he might one day be able to have it _stop_ hurting… that was hopeful.

He'd eventually plucked up the courage to talk about his own mother a bit. Florrie had listened and pointed out a few things he hadn't really considered before. Like the fact he'd been a little kid. Would he expect a random five-year-old to be able to look after their mother? No? Then why did he expect it of himself? Parents were supposed to protect and provide for their kids; that was the whole _point_ of parenthood. It hadn't been his responsibility. Yes, he'd taken it on anyway, but that was his mother's failing, not his.

Also that her failing him didn't mean he had to stop loving her; it just meant he had to forgive her for failing him and let it go. He'd been pretty angry with her until she managed to get that into his head, which had been embarrassing afterwards.

It helped. Xanxus knew he had a hell of a lot to work through and that it would probably get worse before it got better, but he did feel like he was making progress. He also suspected he'd somehow made a friend, which was… strange. He'd not actually had a friend before.

He was damn sure he was going to fuck it up at some point, but he could enjoy it while it lasted.

* * *

Squalo was well aware that Boss was spending a hell of a lot of time with the civilian chick doing some of Mammon's data entry; he was also well aware that her getting that job had been Boss's idea in the first place and that the Mist Officer wouldn't have agreed to it if it had been anybody else suggesting it.

The Rain Officer also knew that Lussuria was making sure everybody kept their mouths shut about Boss's current distraction, had in fact ordered everybody to avoid her unless specifically ordered otherwise by Boss and had thus far ensured that Leviathan didn't even know she existed. Because according to the Sun Officer Boss was marginally calmer these days and anybody acting to buck that trend would be in big trouble with Lussuria _personally_ for interfering with Boss's health.

Squalo wasn't restricted to bed-rest anymore, but he wasn't cleared for missions or training yet and it irked him. However that didn't mean he was poking his nose where it didn't belong; he wasn't going to do that until he had a better idea of what _was_ actually going on. He didn't _think_ Boss had decided to have a fling with that woman, but whatever else was going on –some interesting reading material had been lying around in Boss's office lately– his Sky was drinking less. That had to be a good sign.

* * *

Xanxus's first mission after the long lull of summer was a complete shit-show; increased self-awareness meant he could _feel_ various bits and pieces –who they were killing, _why_ they were killing them– hitting his triggers and sending him into an angry downward spiral. He could compartmentalise and disassociate, but the whole point of what he was doing was to _not_ do that, which meant riding out the mood, chopping up his feelings into bite-sized chunks, recognising them and trying to let them go. Like how the woman he just watched absent-mindedly give herself an overdose and die on a Mist-suggestion reminded him of his mother. How the reason they were killing her made him wonder if the old fart pulled something like this to get rid of his mother back then and how helpless and guilty that made him feel. The way his Zero-Point scars ached persistently, the pain in his legs and arm from his Vindice injuries spiking with every movement, just made it all worse.

So he sat in silence in the car and brooded as the Squad Leader drove them back towards the Varia, the purple-green thunderstorm swirling overhead to match his mood.

The rain started when they were about a kilometre away from HQ, pounding on the roof and roaring over the sound of the radio, and Xanxus decided abruptly that he'd had enough.

"Stop the car."

The Squad Leader did so instantly, jamming on the breaks; Xanxus got out, slammed the car door shut and walked off down the hillside in the premature gloom, heavy rain plastering his hair flat in seconds and thunder ringing deafeningly in his ears.

He wasn't really headed anywhere in particular; he just wanted to be moving. The rain rattled loudly on the leather of his uniform, the cool water trailing down his face making his scars twinge and dripping down his spine inside his jacket as well as soaking through his shirt.

Why did he even _care_ about the Vongola? It wasn't like the Family gave a single shit about him. It never had; it was an idea, an obsession, the focus of the old fart's shitty cult that he used to keep himself in power.

He cared about the Varia because they were _his people_ , not because of the Vongola. They were like him, outcasts and crazies and weirdoes who had hit rock bottom but were still were _trying_ and that meant something.

The old fart had only taken him in because the man thought Xanxus would be _useful_. He'd never given a shit, not really.

The path he was on turned a corner and Xanxus abruptly realised that he'd walked into the yard next to Florrie's place. Because there she was, wearing a purple summer dress, feet bare, dancing in the rain.

She was completely soaked through, the cotton clinging to her skin and making it blatantly obvious she wasn't wearing a bra under it.

She turned and grinned at him, dark hair sticking to her back and mud splattered halfway up to her knees, and Xanxus wanted to fuck her. Wanted to pin her to the outside wall of the house, reduce her to a gasping, mewling mess and have her _begging_ without it being clear whether she wanted him to finish inside her or keep going.

It only took a few strides to reach her and pick her up for a kiss; her lips were cool and tasted like rain but her tongue was hot and willing. Xanxus attacked her mouth hungrily, holding her body against his and carrying her until he found a wall to press her back into, so he could push against her groin with his straining cock in time with the blood pounding in his ears.

She was kissing him back, one hand cradling the back of his head and the other resting on his shoulder for leverage; pinning her to the wall with his hips meant he had a hand free to slide up her thigh under her skirt and pull down her underwear, but suddenly she was yanking on his hair and the hand on his shoulder had turned into a fist she was hitting him with.

"Ans, op!"

It was muffled so he pulled away from her mouth for a moment.

"Stop it! Xanxus stop!"

Stop–

Oh _shit_.

He dropped her like she was on fire and took two quick steps backwards. The way she quickly straightened her soaked skirts and underwear without ever taking her eyes off him really, really hurt.

He deserved it. He hadn't even _asked_ he'd just seen her messing around in the rain and tried to _take_ and he'd fucked up _everything_ now–

"Don't you _dare_ run away from me Xanxus! You tell me what that was all about!"

Xanxus paused and turned around again, taking her in from across the muddy yard. The rain had stopped now and the clouds were moving on, and in the feeble sunlight Florrie looked –and felt– both completely terrified and utterly furious.

"Talk to me!"

What. What was he supposed to _say_?!

"Sorry?" he managed, his voice more of a croak.

"I should damn well hope so!" She took a deep, heaving breath and Xanxus _refused_ to let his eyes drift lower than her chin. "I am going to get you a towel. Then I am going to have a shower and you had _better_ still be here once I get out to explain to me what the _hell_ that was!"

"Okay." That was… fair. Bizarre, but fair. Maybe by the time she'd finished showering he'd have an answer for her that didn't sound Stupid.

* * *

By the time Florrie came back, fully dressed in jeans, socks and a baggy long-sleeved shirt, Xanxus had taken off his jacket so he could hang his sodden shirt over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and dry himself off, then put the jacket back on and done it up properly rather than leaving it hanging open like usual. He'd also settled himself on the floor by the door, both wishing she had alcohol in her house and vaguely relieved she didn't. His scars still ached, but they had settled into low-level background discomfort now and he could ignore them.

She settled on the other kitchen chair and stared at him, her damp hair tied up in a loose bun with a scrunchie. "What on earth got into you that you did that?"

She sounded less accusing and more hurt and confused now; it really didn't help. Xanxus still didn't know what to say.

"I saw you and just…" he trailed off. "Sorry." He wasn't Quality, he was scum. Only scum would do this.

"You already said sorry," Florrie said flatly, then twitched, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and breathed out, deliberately relaxing. "I forgive you."

Xanxus stared. "But I nearly–"

"You _stopped_." She interrupted fiercely. "You stopped and don't you _dare_ take that away from me!"

Yes. He had stopped. But he shouldn't have been _doing_ _it_ in the first place and now Florrie was _personally_ aware that he was capable of really hurting her any time he wanted to. If he didn't stop. "I shouldn't have _started_ ," he muttered bitterly.

"What happened, Xanxus?" she asked quietly. "What happened before you got here that once you did everything went to shit like this?"

Yeah. He owed her that much.

"Work started up again," he began carefully, groping for the right words that would let him be honest without going into too much detail, "and we had a commission. One of the people involved, she reminded me of my mother. Our client wanted to discredit her" –by killing her with a drug overdose– "so she could get swept under the carpet. Like the old fart did to my mother. And I could see her and see him and see myself." See myself _as him_. "It was shitty." Understatement. "But we did it." And I was sore all over, which reminded me of the Stupid decisions which got me those scars and made the whole thing worse.

"So you took a walk in the rain," Florrie said after a decently long silence.

"So I took a walk in the rain," Xanxus agreed tiredly. "Not heading anywhere in particular. Just... out. Away. And my feet brought me here. And there you were. And I just…" He groped for words. "I wanted to feel." Feel better. Feel like he'd achieved something worthwhile. Feel connected.

He stared down at his hands gripping his jacket sleeves in his lap. He was so selfish.

Florrie got out of her chair and padded over to him, dropping to a crouch next to his knees. "Xanxus?"

He let his eyes flick up to meet hers.

"Can I hug you?"

What even.

"You _want_ to?"

"From the sound of it you've had several really awful days, culminating in you making a really stupid decision which you are now beating yourself up over despite managing to come to your senses before doing anything irrevocable," she said very carefully, her tone soft. "I want to hug you. Can I?"

"Sure." Not 'you sound like you need a hug' but 'I want to hug you.' That was… different.

She sidled up until she had her back to the wall next to him, then leaned over and wrapped an arm around his chest, her other hand sliding across his lower back until she'd managed to join her fingers together, leaning her forehead into his shoulder.

"And just so you know, the kissing was very nice indeed," she added under her breath.

Xanxus snorted. "Still should have asked," he pointed out dryly.

She squeezed his ribs. "Yes you should. That way I could have said yes, lots of kisses please, and we could have had fun rather than traumatising each-other."

Xanxus barked out a laugh, leaning his head back against the wall as hysteria bubbled up inside his chest, making him shake as he chuckled helplessly. Then the laughter turned to tears, but Florrie just held onto him more tightly and let him sob into her shoulder, one hand curling up behind his head and stroking his hair.

He felt tired and empty afterwards, but in a good way. Like he'd finally managed to clear some of the mess tangled up inside him.

"You good to go home?" She asked after they'd sat there in silence for a long while.

"Yeah," Xanxus decided.

"Want a drink first?"

"Sure." He could wash his face in the sink too, to make it less obvious he'd had a meltdown. That was his business, not theirs.

"Want dinner too? I need to cook something."

"Don't put yourself out."

"It's literally just ravioli, Xanxus," she said, sitting back on her heels and smiling at him, the mild exasperation in her tone so warm and familiar he almost wanted to start crying again.

"Well in that case, feed me," he managed, warmth blooming in his chest when she rolled her eyes and hit his shoulder like today's mess hadn't happened at all.

She was an amazing friend and he didn't deserve her.

* * *

Xanxus took considerably more care picking which missions he joined in with after the almost-disaster and put some effort into diverting himself if he could feel things starting to go wrong rather than trying to tough it out. Better to go for a walk on the far side of town and leave the mission to his perfectly capable subordinates than to spiral down into a mental hole for no good reason. That wouldn't help anybody.

He was getting into the habit of finding an empty rooftop or quiet back alley and letting Bester out, then fussing over the liger and enjoying the deep, resonant rumble in the big cat's chest that wasn't quite a purr but still indicated contentment. It was pleasantly distracting and got him through the rough patches.

* * *

It was most of a fortnight before he next visited Florrie, and when he did what he found wasn't quite what he'd been expecting.

"Struggling?"

Florrie glared at him from where she was perched halfway up a ladder, a large wicker basket slung over one shoulder and several wooden crates full of peaches stacked at the base of a nearby tree. There were also two trays of apricots, four baskets of figs and another stack of crates off to the other side, all full of apples. As well as an untidy pile of empty crates next to the bottom of the ladder. If he hadn't seen the teetering piles of crates stacked up in the barn back in the summer he'd be wondering where they'd all come from.

"What am I supposed to _do_ with all this?" She demanded, waving her free hand to encompass the tree she was halfway up, the laden plum trees and the various citrus trees, all of which were covered in fruit at least halfway to being ripe.

"Sell it?"

"Who to? It's all ripe _now_ and while the figs will keep and so will the apples, everything else needs eating or cooking in the next day or so! I don't have jars or sugar for jam –or even a jam kettle– and I don't have the space to dry any more of it!"

Xanxus eyed the crates; he suspected that if he took the peaches and apricots back to the Varia they'd all be gone in hours. Someone would have to come down with a van though; there was too much to carry without Mist-trickery. "Is this everything?"

"No. I have another ten crates of apples in the barn, several boxes of raspberries in the fridge, six rows of grape vines that are inexplicably fruitful despite their age, three persimmon trees just starting to ripen and a grove of olives I have no idea what to do with." She climbed down the ladder, carefully emptying her basket into another crate. "Not to mention the almond and pistachio trees. I didn't even realise there _were_ pistachio trees!"

That was. A _lot_. Of fruit. Had the Varia passing by over the years done something to the trees to keep them healthy and fruiting despite the previous lack of care? Florrie had been babying the trees throughout the summer, keeping them watered and occasionally feeding them, so they'd clearly gone mad with the attention.

He had no idea how much a crate of fruit would cost at the market, but if he got someone from Housekeeping down here they'd know and would probably be willing to pay just as much for fruit straight off the tree, even if some of it was a bit marked.

"Let me make a few calls?"

"If you can find somebody willing to take this lot _today_ then they can have it all for five euros a crate, so long as I get the crates back, and anybody willing to pick the olives can have them all for free whenever they're ripe."

That was _definitely_ a bargain. Xanxus got his phone out; the Kitchen staff would jump at the opportunity for cheap fruit and free olives.

* * *

After Housekeeping had come and gone, having received permission to come and pick the grapes, plums and persimmons for themselves for five euros a crate –still definitely a bargain– Florrie collapsed into a kitchen chair with her forehead on the table. Xanxus poured them both drinks –he was getting the impression his friend hadn't drunk enough today– and settled next to her.

"Better?" He asked.

"Yes. Thank you. My head is killing me though."

"Drink something."

She levered herself up off the table with an elbow and sipped the water, eyes firmly closed. "I think it's stress as much as dehydration."

"Dealt with the fruit now though," Xanxus pointed out.

"Yes. But me stressing over the fruit was more of a symptom than the cause."

Xanxus made an inquiring noise in his throat; this sounded like something that him listening to could help her work through.

Florrie sighed. "I just… it's September. And for the first time in as long as I can remember I'm _not_ going to school. So everything's weird. Up until now it all felt like summer holidays and a summer job but now it's autumn and I'm wondering what to do with myself for the rest of the year and panicking a bit."

Xanxus had no idea what that felt like because he'd been home-schooled, so didn't really have anything helpful to offer.

"The farm's going to be pretty much over by the end of next month," Florrie went on, "other than the citruses of course, so I'm not sure what I'm going to do with myself. Probably find a new hobby to fill the time in between the data entry work, I suppose." She sighed. "Could get my art supplies out again? It's not too hot to hold a brush anymore and there are some nice views up here." She reached up with her free hand and absently squeezed the back of her neck. "Painting doesn't exactly pay for itself though." She lowered her head to the tabletop again.

Xanxus reached over and gently prodded her neck; the tendons were hard enough that she probably had a thumping headache, which explained why she was keeping her eyes closed. "Painkillers?" He suggested.

"Take an hour or more to kick in and don't do much for the stiffness," she complained.

The other thing Xanxus could think of was not something he'd ever have suggested to any of his co-workers, but then again Florrie wasn't a co-worker. "Neck massage?"

She pushed her empty glass away then reached up to cradle her neck with both hands, rubbing the tendons. "Ow. Does help a bit though."

It wasn't just her neck; Xanxus could see the muscles across her shoulders standing out under her skin and suspected her upper back was just as bad, especially since she'd been carrying that awkward basket up and down the ladder in the orchard for most of the day and apparently all of yesterday as well. "Let me?"

Florrie turned her head, eyelids cracking open to give him a level look. "Just a neck massage?"

He deserved that. "Neck, shoulders, upper back," he corrected cautiously. "All connected." If she didn't want him touching her he'd understand completely; today she had been as friendly as ever but there was a hint of reserve and caution now that there hadn't been two weeks ago.

She closed her eyes again and sighed. "I don't know what my problem is," she muttered; "you've seen me in a bikini before now."

Yes, but she'd felt safe then and didn't anymore. Xanxus did not say as much though; she wasn't really talking to him.

"I'll change into something that leaves more of my upper back visible," she decided, getting to her feet with her eyes still closed, "and retie my hair. I don't want to still feel this terrible tomorrow and if I don't do _something_ then I'm going to wake up with a migraine."

She wandered out of the kitchen, one hand skimming the tabletop and the other outstretched to catch herself before she ran into the wall. Xanxus watched her leave, wondering if refusing to be afraid of things that really _could_ kill you was a Cloud-trait. Pig-headed stubbornness in the face of certain death was; after getting rid of Ottabio he'd ended up killing a bunch of other veteran Clouds who'd refused to either accept his authority or retire.

She came back minutes later in a spaghetti-strap top and her hair fastened up in a bun high on the back of her head, having also taken off her walking boots and put on a pair of flats. "Now what?"

"Sit down," Xanxus said, getting to his feet, "and tell me if you want me to stop." Because things were definitely still shaky between them and he refused to make that worse if he could possibly help it.

"Kay." Florrie dropped into the chair he'd just got out of and Xanxus ran his fingers firmly along her trapezius muscles, down her neck and across the top of her shoulders. "Ow."

That sounded like a comment rather than a complaint, so Xanxus ignored it. She couldn't see what he was doing, so he could cheat with Flames a bit if he wanted to and this was something that Harmony could theoretically be applied to.

He should work up to that though, to make it seem less out of place. Xanxus started with leaning into a pressure point in her spine, and when Florrie gasped and the muscles under his hands softened slightly, moved into pressing at them in earnest.

He used just the tiniest trace of Flames, urging them into the deeper muscles to speed up the process of breaking down the lactic acid and to counter all the tension he could feel under his hands.

Florrie was slumped in his grip now, shoulders lax as Xanxus pressed his fingertips into the knots in her upper back and used his extensive anatomy knowledge for something other than inflicting injury. She really was small, he mused idly as he ran fingers up her neck to press behind her ears. Not small-small –she was probably about average height really– but compared to him she was positively dainty. And fragile; no combat training at all, for all that she was strong enough to do regular manual labour. He could wrap one hand most of the way around her neck if he wanted to and break her spine with one sharp twist.

He wasn't going to, but he was capable of it. And even if Florrie didn't know he was an assassin, she was very well aware now that he was more than strong enough to hurt her; kill her even. And she was still letting him close and trusting him not to.

The only other person who trusted him this much was the shark, and even that was iffy because Xanxus knew Squalo was no less dangerous than he was and could dish right back when he lashed out. Florrie on the other hand couldn't take it, so was far more vulnerable.

When had he last touched somebody vulnerable like this that wasn't an assassination target?

Xanxus palmed Florrie's forehead, holding her upright, then pressed on her neck with his other hand; this way he was supporting the weight of her head so her muscles could relax without her having to lie down first.

"Feels really nice," she mumbled, the first sound she'd made beyond the occasional quiet gasp and hitch in her breath.

"Any pain left?" He asked quietly.

"Crown of my head, under my hair."

Xanxus undid her hair, tugging out the tie and digging his fingers into her scalp. The noise Florrie made was almost a whimper as he pressed into the little knot of muscle he'd found hidden up there.

He'd used the least Flames he could, but he could still feel them humming faintly under her skin; he'd never tried to use them quite this way before, which was probably a factor, but he also wasn't used to using his Flames non-lethally on Latents. When dealing with Actives you had to overcome the innate resistance of the other person's Flames to work on their body and Florrie, being Latent, didn't have that.

She was probably going to be weak as a noodle for the rest of the evening, since Harmony spread and would be countering all tension everywhere, including the tension required for keeping the body upright and mobile.

Sure enough, she slowly slumped forwards onto the table when he stopped holder her up. "I feel so much better," she yawned, "but also really tired."

Xanxus poured another glass of water out of the jug on the worktop. "Drink some more," he urged firmly. She did so, if a little sloppily.

"Why'm I so tired?"

"You're properly relaxed now; did you sleep well last night?" Xanxus wasn't going to admit it was partly his fault, not when he couldn't explain Flames.

"Not really."

"There you go then."

"Should probably nap on the couch then," she decided with another yawn, finishing the water. "Don' wanna move though." She let her head droop to the tabletop, her hair flopping forwards and sliding messily around her shoulders.

Part of Xanxus very much wanted to laugh; he'd not known Sky Flames could do this and it was hilarious. The rest of him didn't want all his hard work loosening her neck muscles ruined because she couldn't be arsed to lie down properly. "You'll knot up again like that."

She tilted her head to peek at him through her hair and pouted. "Carry me?"

Yeah, he could do that. Since she'd asked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Pick up the pieces (and take stock)**

Three days later and Xanxus could _still_ feel his own Flames on Florrie. Was it because he'd deliberately insinuated them under her skin, so they couldn't 'wear off,' or was it due to her being Latent and therefore not having any Flames of her own to displace them with? A combination of both? It would take somebody with really good senses to notice it –like the shark or Bel– but it was there.

Xanxus felt a little uncomfortable with it, honestly. Like he'd marked her or something, which he hadn't meant to do at _all_ no matter _what_ his libido was currently suggesting. Thankfully the muscle-relaxing effect had worn off by the morning after; otherwise he really _would_ have had some explaining to do. But no, Florrie had been in full form and happily perched in one of the fig trees, talking about wasps. Because apparently you didn't get figs without wasps.

After that third day of checking in on her and feeling his own Flames every time he got close he picked another mission to go on; he was just obsessing at this point and it wasn't doing either of them any good, as Florrie could tell something was bothering him and he wasn't talking about it. He'd noticed his reluctance starting to get on her nerves, which was what prompted him to take a mission in the first place; unusually easygoing or not, his friend was still a Cloud and if he'd kept on hovering she'd probably have turned on him and tried to push him into coughing up what the problem was. Or else told him to go away and stop annoying her.

Neither had really appealed, so he'd left before she got to that point.

The mission was in Russia and was as much a show of force as an assassination, so he'd got to use Bester and burn a concrete bunker to ash, as well as storm a smuggling complex and shoot people. By the end of it he was pleasantly tired and feeling much more comfortable in his skin; he spent the flight home to Sicily snoozing with Bester's head in his lap, stroking the liger behind the ears and enjoying how the rumbling not-purring tuned in with the aeroplane vibrations.

Xanxus didn't bother recalling his Box Weapon before going to bed upon returning to Varia Headquarters; it wasn't like there weren't a dozen other big cats roaming around the place and Bester liked exploring.

He only realised this might have been a mistake when Mammon stopped by his office the following morning right after breakfast.

"Your oversized cat is costing me money, mu."

Xanxus looked up from the paperwork and glared. "How?"

The ex-Arcobaleno floated up onto his desk. "He is inconveniencing my bookkeeping assistant and not letting her work."

Florrie. Bester had left the grounds and hunted down _Florrie?!_

Xanxus shoved his chair back, shot to his feet and grabbed his jacket on his way past the couch. How on earth was he supposed to explain an over-affectionate liger that wasn't actually a real animal at all to a civilian?! Yes, Bester might _look_ like a big cat but he certainly didn't smell like one and Florrie was both observant enough and knowledgeable enough about animals to pick up on that. Especially when Bester had apparently decided she was his new favourite person, since 'not letting her work' implied he was pushing her around and being cuddly.

This wasn't something he'd even _considered_ might happen.

* * *

The front door of the farmstead was locked; Florrie _never_ secured the deadbolt during the day, or at least didn't when she was awake and mobile. Xanxus restrained himself from kicking the door in and knocked. Loudly.

"Window!" came a familiar voice; Xanxus looked to his right and walked up to the window, which had the blind pulled about a quarter of the way up.

"Florrie?"

"Xanxus? A _liger_ got in through my window while I was showering and isn't letting me leave," his friend said, sounding more bemused than frightened or annoyed. Lifting up the blind a bit more and leaning in, Xanxus realised this was the _bedroom_ window; there was a bed pushed against the wall opposite and Bester was sprawled across the mattress, on top of Florrie. Who had damp hair messily fastened up in a clip on the back of her head and one visible bare foot. Was she even dressed? Well he could see sleeves, so she at least had a shirt on.

Bester was covering her entire body bar that foot –sticking out from under his stomach– and her head, which was poking out just under his right shoulder. Her lower arms were sticking out too, cradling the liger's head with her hands rubbing behind his ears and around his jaw.

Bester's eyes were closed and he looked like he had no intention whatsoever of moving any time soon.

How on _earth_ was he going to remove Bester without opening the Pandora's box that revealing the existence of Flame-Tech would be?

Well, for starters he could remove Florrie rather than Bester; that way she could get on with her work and Mammon would be happy. After that he just had to keep Bester away from her.

"Can I come in?"

"Go for it," his friend said, her tone all amused bafflement.

Climbing in the window was honestly not hard; Xanxus could see how Bester had managed it as a lack of thumbs would be no hindrance at all. "How dressed are you?" He asked once he was inside.

"Half-dressed?" Florrie admitted. "He was in here when I got out the shower, which was a bit of a shock, but he got behind me very quickly and kept nuzzling against me, so I thought I was safe to put clothes on since he seemed friendly. Then he jumped me as I was trying to get into my trousers and here I am."

So dressed enough that he could drag her out from under his Box Weapon without making it awkward for her. Xanxus picked a pair of trousers off the floor –probably the pair she'd been trying to put on– and tossed them out into the hall, then chucked her flats and a pair of socks after them; there, that way she could finish getting dressed. Then he walked up to the bed, slid his hands under Florrie's back and found her armpits.

"This will probably hurt," he warned her.

Florrie let her arms flop back on the mattress; Xanxus yanked hard just as Bester opened his eyes, pulling her out from under the liger like a magician doing the tablecloth trick. The Box Weapon snarled his displeasure; Xanxus shoved Florrie out of the bedroom door and snarled back.

Bester subsided, clambering off the bed and trying to slip past him out of the door. Xanxus dropped to his knees and casually wrestled the liger to the floor, rolling the animal onto his back. "Oh no you don't," he growled. "Why are you even here?"

The big cat looked at Xanxus down his nose. It was moments like this that Xanxus was reminded that Box Weapons were considerably smarter than the animals they appeared to be.

"Why track her down at all?"

The liger huffed and closed his eyes; Xanxus got the distinct impression he was being ignored.

"I'm going to eat breakfast," Florrie said from behind him, "I'm ravenous. Let me know if you want anything, okay?"

The Varia Boss continued eyeballing the Flame-construct. Bester was made of _his_ Flames, which had a marked effect on his personality; everybody at the Varia knew that, having seen how the various different Box Animals took after their owners. Was Bester's sudden interest in Florrie connected to Xanxus having accidentally infused the woman with some of his Flames –which were now much more obvious due to the liger having rubbed _more_ Flames all over her– or was it something else?

He'd keep it simple for the time being and assume it was the obvious thing; Bester had been free-range all summer and never shown an interest before now, so it was probably that. If it turned out to be something different he could address it when it came up.

In the meantime, he couldn't drag Bester out of the building if the liger didn't want to go and he couldn't return the Box Weapon to his ring without raising suspicions. Which meant he'd probably be spending the next few hours hanging around his friend while she worked and playing with the liger, to make sure she didn't get pounced on again.

Well, the paperwork could wait that long and Squalo was up and about now, so if anything urgent came up the shark could deal with it. If it was _really_ urgent, he had his phone.

* * *

Over the course of the following week Xanxus had to retrieve Bester from the farmstead four more times; after that he decided enough was enough, stuck the damn liger back in his ring and kept him there.

Then Florrie found out his birthday was coming up and asked him what he wanted as a present. Oddly enough, not a question anybody had ever asked him before.

"Chocolate cake?" Florrie made really _good_ chocolate cake.

"It's your _birthday_ , Xanxus; of course I'm going to make you a cake! That's not a present though."

Xanxus wasn't sure about that; an entire cake he didn't have to share with the rest of the Varia was a damn fine gift, especially if he got to eat it as slowly as he wanted to since it wasn't going to get stolen the moment he took his eyes off it.

"Pick anything."

"Xanxus, that's not helpful!" Florrie complained, slapping his arm. "Give me _some_ idea, please?"

"I don't care."

"I will buy you something ridiculous," she threatened. Xanxus, inured by exposure to the Varia's idea of what counted as gag gifts, shrugged.

"Go for it."

"You're hopeless, you know that? Isn't there a book you want or anything like that?"

The Varia was full of books in forty languages, Florrie didn't drink alcohol so he didn't trust her to buy it, the Flame-Tech parts and materials he wanted were _way_ outside her budget and he was curious now what she'd come up with in an attempt to spite him. "Surprise me."

"Men!"

* * *

Florrie's idea of 'something ridiculous' turned out to be tiger-themed everything: a white tiger phone charm, tiger-pattered pyjamas, fuzzy tiger socks –with actual tiger head shapes over the toes– and a white tiger stuffed toy.

Xanxus promptly attached the charm to his phone –nobody had ever given him one before– and prodded at the toy to see how well it would work as a cushion. He'd not been given soft toys since he was a little kid, and this one was the right shape to make a very nice neck rest next time he took an overnight flight.

"When's your birthday?" He asked, looking up to meet her eyes over the row of pleasantly tasteful birthday cards that had come with the gifts.

"November first," she told him, looking inordinately pleased by how much he liked his presents.

All Saints' Day? Well at least he had most of three weeks to get his hands on a gift. Gifts; she'd set the bar pretty high with this haul, never mind the cake.

"What do _you_ want for your birthday?" he asked, setting the cuddly tiger aside and helping himself to the slice of said cake that she'd cut for him. Using a fork; it was a very large slice and a very moist cake, with lots of very dark and sticky chocolate icing layered through it. It tasted fantastic and he was looking forward to being able to spend the entire day slowly working his way through it.

"All sorts of things," Florrie told him cheerfully, eyes gleaming mischievously. "I want to go horse riding, I want to try falconry, I want new walking boots –mine are dying– and a jam kettle so I can make marmalade with the oranges when January comes around, art supplies, pottery lessons and access to a kiln, embroidery silks, printed cotton fabric for quilting, a trip to the seaside; pick any or none of them."

That was some list; Xanxus had never even _thought_ about some of those things before but falconry definitely sounded like it could be fun. Hearing her say all that however reminded him that she was living alone and was over a thousand kilometres away from anybody else who'd think to give her birthday presents. Or Christmas presents, come to that.

"You going home for Christmas?"

"I can't afford to, Xanxus; I'm managing to get by without digging into my savings too severely but if I bought a plane ticket home in December I wouldn't be able to afford to come back. Or if I did manage to get a decently-priced return, I then wouldn't be able to afford to go home next summer."

It probably said something about his life that 'I can't afford to' had been the unavoidably looming obstacle for _everything_ until he was six, then had promptly ceased to be an issue altogether. He knew how to budget, of course –it was a necessary skill– but he'd never been unable to do things he wanted to do purely due to lack of funds. Lack of adult permission and occasional cash-flow delays yes, but not outright _lack_ of funds.

Christmas at the Varia was loud, chaotic and intensely annoying, but it was still a thousand times better than celebrating at the Iron Fort had ever been. Christmas all alone though… that was somehow worse than the idea of having a birthday all alone. Probably because everybody made a big deal of Christmas being about family.

"I'll bring you 'bones of the dead' for your birthday then," Xanxus drawled, swallowing his mouthful of cake; the traditional and rather macabre biscuits were _only_ sold on the first and second of November, for All Saints and All Souls, and there were dozens of different local varieties.

"I feel so loved," Florrie snarked back, helping herself to a rather smaller slice of cake and a handful of freshly shelled almonds. Xanxus grabbed some almonds too; they were off her trees –as were the pistachios– and they tasted fantastic.

He'd have to put some serious thought into the birthday present thing, but at least she'd given him somewhere to start. The Christmas thing might take longer, but he had more time for that anyway.

* * *

Everybody at the Varia gave Boss birthday presents, but what Squalo wanted to know was who had been daring and crazy enough to give him a cuddly tiger. Because somebody clearly _had_ ; said cuddly tiger was even now sat on the end of Boss's couch on top of the usual cushions, as though it wasn't a blatant anomaly and the focus of a new and intense betting pool.

There was also a dinky white tiger charm attached to Boss's phone, but Squalo suspected Luss's involvement there; the Sun Officer was the only person Boss would accept one from who actually thought those things were cute.

Squalo didn't ask about the stuffed toy right away though; he had more important things on his mind, like Luss having finally cleared him for missions again. Well, missions limited by the requirements of his transplant and the associated medications, anyway.

"Voooi, what you got for me, Boss?"

Boss threw a file at him; Squalo caught it before it hit him in the face and flicked it open. Ah, Alaska; joy. Who was it they were being paid to kill there? Oh, some thieving scum who thought nobody would look for him in Alaska; that explained everything. There'd probably be hiking and rented vehicle problems, leading to more hiking and encounters with wildlife.

The immunosuppressants he was on meant he couldn't have live vaccines anymore and there were a whole host of other contraindications, like avoiding sun exposure and not eating grapefruit, and an increased risk of death should he ever be infected by a range of diseases contracted from insect bites and contaminated food or water.

He wasn't even allowed to eat his favourite food anymore; just thinking about it pissed him off.

There was a quick knock at the door; Squalo moved out the way so that if Boss threw something at the interloper it wouldn't clip him in passing.

"Boss, Don Vongola called," the assassin –Squalo thought he was a Storm– said quickly. "I followed orders and said you were unavailable, but–"

Boss nodded sharply and rose to his feet, grabbing his go bag from under his desk. "Leaving now, shark," the Sky said, snatching the file from Squalo's hand on his way towards the door.

"Vooi!" The Rain Officer bellowed, turning around and striding after him, "Don't you dare leave without me Boss!" He wanted this mission; he was fed up with sick leave!

"Hurry up then," his Sky tossed over his shoulder with a lazy smirk.

Squalo hurried. Was Boss avoiding Nono for any particular reason or was it just general annoyance this time?

It was only after he'd grabbed his bag, medications and Squad and they'd all got into the car that the Rain Officer noticed Boss had brought the cuddly tiger along with him, using it as a neck cushion as he napped in the front seat. Well that _might_ explain why his Sky hadn't incinerated either the toy or the giver on principle…

* * *

"Voooi! Where's Boss?" Squalo demanded, stalking out of the Sky's empty office and accosting the first assassin he came across. A Mist as it happened; good, he'd probably get answers.

"Er, out?"

The Rain Officer bared his teeth. "Not an answer, voi."

The Mist wavered, but didn't say a word; Squalo grabbed him by the collar and dragged him along the hall into the swordsman's own office, kicking the door closed for nominal privacy.

"Talk."

His victim sagged. "Bester went over the south wall again two hours ago and Boss went after him."

"How closely does that correlate to the meeting Don Vongola set up for today?" Squalo demanded, eyes narrowing.

The Mist snorted, then slammed a hand over his mouth to hide the grin. Yeah, that explained why it was Squalo had ended up having to placate the aging Don over Boss not showing up to the meeting until Nono decided waiting was a waste of his time and left. It being lunchtime had probably played a part there too. If he were in Nono's shoes he wouldn't want to stay for lunch with a bunch of professional assassins who weren't particularly fond of him either.

"Timing?" Squalo asked again, more mildly this time as he leaned back and raised an inviting eyebrow. Mists loved gossip even more than the average Varia assassin.

"Boss let Bester out for the first time in over six weeks about half an hour before the meeting was scheduled," the Mist shared, eyes gleaming mischievously, "and Security reported the liger vaulting the south wall twenty minutes later. Boss immediately left the building to give chase and hasn't been seen since." The regular Varia cats couldn't jump the wall due to the Wards, but evidently Box Animals didn't 'count' to the security and Bester had made a habit of taking advantage of the loophole.

"And unofficially?" Because Squalo knew Mists and knew they knew damn well where Boss was, even though they were certainly never going to tell unless prompted. And wouldn't even then if people they didn't like were doing the asking.

The Mist grinned. "He's visiting the bookkeeper."

Bookkeeper… oh yes, Mammon's civvie assistant who actually knew how to enter expenses and income according to the miser's convoluted system. Also where all that fruit had come from last month and why Housekeeping were pressing their own olive oil this year. "The old farm along the south border?" Squalo clarified.

"That's the one, Captain." The Mist paused. "Want in on the betting pools?"

"Which betting pools?"

"Whether they're dating, whether they're going to start dating if they aren't already and if so, when, how long Boss's going to stay interested, why he's interested at all, whether Levi's going to succeed in murdering her when he finds out and whether Boss will kill him over whatever he manages to do," the Mist rattled off. "There's more than that, but those are the big ones."

Well that sounded like something Squalo should have been paying more attention to than he had been. Which, admittedly he'd been distracted by getting his heart transplant, being laid up for months, adjusting to the shitty drugs and then having to retrain, but that was no excuse. "I am going to find Boss." And yell at him for dumping the Nono mess in his lap without prior warning.

"There's money on what her Flame-type is, Captain," the Mist said cheerfully, "since Luss banned everybody below Officer from going anywhere near her and Mammon banned us from looking in on her because accounts are confidential; you get a cut if you find out."

'Us' in this instance meaning all of Mist Division; Squalo would keep that in mind. "Anything else?"

The Mist smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. "Bester _really_ likes her."

Box Weapons were animated by their owner's Flames, so the liger was basically Boss filtered through a feline consciousness. This could be either good news or really bad news. "Get out of my office."

The Mist got. Once he was alone again Squalo groaned, glared at the ceiling then gave up and headed off downstairs; he generally ignored the fact Boss was still technically a teenager, but whatever this was implied he really shouldn't have.

* * *

Xanxus had let Bester out deliberately in the hope that the liger would make a beeline for Florrie and give him an excuse to skip the meeting with the old fart. After all, preserving Omertà was more important than Don Vongola pitching a fit over the Varia Head not letting himself be conned into work outside his purview, wasn't it?

Bester came through, vanishing over the wall with ten minutes to go before the scheduled meeting, so Xanxus had made his escape and then taken his time wandering down to the farmstead. It was getting properly into autumn now and despite the average temperature still being warm it was raining more often. Not today, thankfully –otherwise Bester probably wouldn't have left Headquarters– but it had earlier in the week.

He found Bester wandering around the little vineyard behind the barn, prowling up and down the rows in between nosing at Florrie as she knelt in the scrubby grass and examined the aged, twisted vines that had spent the previous five years running wild. It was an amusingly incongruous picture; Xanxus paused to appreciate it, the ivory and glossy black of Bester's fur contrasting with the deep red of the dying vine leaves and the rusty orange of Florrie's shirt.

She didn't look like she was going to notice him any time soon, so Xanxus picked a tree to sit against and settled in to enjoy the day. It was warm but not too hot, there was a nice breeze off the sea, he'd succeeded in avoiding the old fart again and watching Florrie examine the vines in anticipation of pruning them next month –something she'd been talking about earlier in the week– was pleasantly restful.

Of course he wasn't going to be able to avoid the old fart indefinitely, but if he could manage it for long enough then the man would give up on trying to get him to take on extra work and make somebody else do it. Which would hopefully happen before Christmas; last year's Vongola Christmas season had been completely shit and he wasn't holding out any hope of this year's being better, despite this year's festive season not falling in the immediate aftermath of the fake future nonsense.

He did have a few half-formed plans for avoiding the god-awful solstice ball, but they were all dependent on circumstances turning out in his favour –well except for the 'give himself food poisoning' idea which was very much a last resort– so he wouldn't be able to set them in motion until nearer the time. The next actually important upcoming event was Florrie's birthday, which he was having fun scheming for.

Bester finally decided that what Florrie was doing was boring, gave up prowling around her and wandered over to flop across Xanxus's legs; he rubbed the liger idly behind the ears, coaxing out a comfortable rumble.

On days like this he could almost pretend that he wasn't a monumental fuck-up trying desperately to patch together something resembling an actual life and salvaging some kind of future from the scattered fragments left behind after the old fart had systematically destroyed everything Xanxus had believed was his but had turned out not to be. The revelation that he wasn't Vongola had only been the beginning there; what really burned was that he'd been left to rot for _eight years_ and only been dragged out of cold storage at _all_ because the ruthless old _shit_ had finally decided he had a use for his so-called youngest son.

He'd still tried. He'd done _everything_ the old fart wanted him to and what had he got in return? Accusations, slander, that damn ice _again_ and a steaming pile of public humiliation on top to finish it all off. And afterwards the scheming _scum_ had acted like all was forgiven and things would go back to normal. Normal, hah! The hell even _was_ normal now?

"Oh! Hey there Xanxus!"

The Varia Boss glanced up at Florrie, who'd got to the end of a row and finally looked up properly. He raised a hand in a half-hearted wave; she smiled at him and then went back to the vines, utterly focused on the task to hand.

The old fart had never apologised for lying to him his entire life. He'd never even recognised it was something he should apologise _for_ ; instead the scum made out that Xanxus being angry about it was unreasonable and _ungrateful_ , like the fact the man claimed to love him meant _shit_ in the face of all that deliberate deceit. Like setting him up to be humiliated by the Sky-trash had been anything other than ruthless entrapment. Sky-trash was yet to notice he'd been manipulated there; so much for Primo's vaunted Intuition.

In his lap Bester growled; Xanxus took a deep breath, tipped his head back to rest against the bark and deliberately stopped picking at the issue. He'd gone over it in his head at least a hundred times in the past year and it hadn't changed anything. He didn't have a solution. He didn't even have a mitigation strategy. All he had was certain doom lurking on the horizon, gliding inexorably closer. He cared, damn it, no matter what the rest of the Alliance thought.

The fuck was he supposed to _do?_

* * *

It took his friend about an hour to finish going over the vines; Xanxus only noticed she was done because Bester immediately heaved himself up and lolloped over to her, intercepting her the moment she stepped outside the low wall of the vineyard and head-butting her affectionately in the stomach.

"Yes, that's the chores over for the morning," Florrie agreed with a warm smile, shoving her gardening gloves in a pocket and rubbing the liger behind the ears. "We can go play in the orchard once I've tidied up, promise."

Xanxus felt his lips twitch; by the third time Bester had ambushed Florrie she'd lost all fear of the Box Weapon and started treating him like an oversized house cat. That time when Xanxus had come to retrieve the liger he'd found the two of them playing tag, which had been fucking _hilarious_ because Bester had been distracted by him showing up and Florrie had promptly pounced on the Flame Construct, despite the gigantic cat being at _least_ six times her weight.

The funniest bit had been that Bester had instantly collapsed and played dead for a few seconds, then rolled on top of the giggling woman while growling happily and vigorously scent-marking her. Flame-construct or not, Bester was still a cat with all the instincts that entailed.

Watching the massive pseudo-animal bounce around Florrie as she headed past the barn towards the house, Xanxus got to his feet and stretched, flicking his feathers back over his shoulder. He'd grab a drink while his friend was tidying up, then watch her fool around with Bester and maybe take a nap before lunch.

* * *

"C'mon Xanxus! It'll be fun!"

Xanxus hesitated. Why did she want him to do this?

Florrie grabbed his hands and tugged gently, swinging on his arms a little. "Please? It's a nice day and it's not like anybody can see us. And it's not like Bester is going to tell anyone either, are you Bester?"

The liger rumbled, tail swishing in anticipation.

"Why?" What was the point?

Florrie smiled. "Because it's fun. Because you look kind of down today and something mindless and enjoyable will be distracting. Because playing tag with a liger is something nobody else gets to do and we should absolutely take advantage of that. Because it's important to do fun things _because_ they're fun and we want to, because nobody else is going to put us first if we don't." She sighed. "At least have a go, please?"

Well, it probably wouldn't do any harm… "Okay."

Bester promptly pounced on him, knocking him to the ground and nuzzling his neck then rolling off again.

"You're it!" Florrie carolled, then turned and ran, laughing and dodging around the trees as Xanxus scrambled to his feet and chased after her.

* * *

Squalo strode into in the farmyard and found the house quiet, so headed out past the barn to do a circuit of the cultivated fields; hopefully Boss was actually here. If he'd snuck back into Headquarters for his bike while the Rain Officer was busy then he could be anywhere.

Thankfully Boss wasn't anywhere; he was sprawled in a patch of dappled shade in the farm's large orchard, flopped across Bester and apparently napping. His jacket was tossed over a low branch, his shirt was dusty and smeared with grass stains and liger hair, several buttons were ripped loose and half his feathers were missing.

The Rain Officer blinked slowly and looked again. Yes, he was really seeing this. Some of the missing feathers were stuffed into his jacket pockets –Squalo could see them sticking out, along with the raccoon tail– but the woman sitting under another tree facing his Sky and sketching on a large pad had the rest of them protruding cheerfully from her messy bun.

Beyond the stolen accessories –Boss had _killed people_ for so much as _attempting_ to touch his feathers before now– the woman had her sleeves rolled up to reveal several superficial scratches and a bruise that looked like a tree root –since he didn't think anything else would leave such a wiggly bruise– along with some reddish grazes on her cheek and jaw. Her shirt and trousers were also liberally smeared with grass stains and hairs, which was… suggestive.

The only sounds were of the Box Weapon snoring and the soft scritching of the woman's pencil, along with the normal outdoor sounds of wind through trees, distant insects and birdsong.

There was a pause in the scratching, a swoosh as the woman turned the page of her sketchbook and then the sounds of sketching continued.

Squalo contemplated the possibility that he was hallucinating.

"Shark," the Sky drawled, not so much as opening his eyes.

"What about –oh." The woman noticed him. "Hello."

Squalo hoisted himself over the fence surrounding the orchard, wandered closer and leaned against the tree the miraculously unscathed feather-thief was sitting under. "Skipped out on a meeting, Boss," he said dryly.

His Sky ignored him. The woman didn't comment either, which was in some ways more interesting; Squalo glanced down at her and paused to take in the sketch materialising under her pencil.

It was pretty recognisably Boss; the fuzzy mass taking shape behind him was starting to look very Bester-like too. Squalo watched the pencil add detail and shading, not in any particular hurry to demand answers when his Sky was feeling so at peace.

"Was it a meeting about the thing that is not your problem?" the woman asked after a long pause.

"Hm," Boss grunted. Squalo considered the question and its implications, which were many. Boss had definitely been talking to this civvie woman about Vongola shit that was annoying him, for one. For another, Boss had clearly decided he was not going to cooperate at _all_ with Nono's latest scheme. Which, fine; he could have _told_ Squalo that though, so the Rain Officer could help deflect and obstruct.

"Are we too busy to reschedule the meeting before the New Year then, Boss?" he asked dryly.

"Offer early February," Boss muttered.

The first half of February was the height of Varia flu season; by then everybody returning from their winter holidays in early January had had time to share the viruses they'd picked up abroad and incubate the resulting mutations. In all his years leading the Varia Squalo had not _once_ scheduled a meeting in February, because there was no point when you were probably going to be sick and have to postpone it anyway.

"As you say, Boss." He wouldn't need to say a word to anybody; that there was a meeting scheduled in February at _all_ would tell the entire Varia how Boss felt about whatever it was Nono was trying to make him do.

The sketch of Boss napping now had a few smaller sketches orbiting it, close-ups of Bester's muzzle and a slightly different angle on his Sky's face.

Miss Civvie was a Cloud, as it happened; kind of middling on the power scale and very firmly Latent.

Boss did not have a Cloud, or even anyone who was really in the running for Cloud Guardian. That was an interesting complication; not one the betting pool seemed to have considered as an option either, or else the Mist would have mentioned it.

The woman turned another page in her sketchbook and glanced up at him again. "I'm Florrie, by the way."

"Squalo." He could probably get her surname off Mammon's contract for the accounts work if he was bothered. Speaking of which, Mammon had definitely met her and would equally definitely have noticed she was a Cloud. Was the miser matchmaking?

Scratch that, was Boss courting? Guardian-type courting as opposed to the romantic kind, which this didn't really seem to be now he'd watched them interact a little. If so, how would that work out when she was a civvie? Yes, the Vongola prattled on about the Cloud being 'the outsider' of the set but they didn't mean it like _this_.

"Thinking too hard, shark," Boss grumbled, stretching and rolling himself into a sitting position.

Oh well in that case. "Coming back to the office any time soon, voi?" The Rain Officer asked idly. "I'm not doing the paperwork for you."

His Sky rose to his feet and huffed. "Might as well." He grabbed his jacket, walked up to where Squalo was standing, then bent down and tugged his feathers out of the civvie's –Florrie's– hair.

"Are you taking Bester?"

"He'll come back on his own when he's hungry," Boss said dismissively, shrugging his jacket over his shoulders and pocketing the feathers.

"If he breaks into my fridge again I will make you buy me replacement everything," the Latent Cloud replied warningly, craning her neck so she could look Boss in the eye while poking his leg with her pencil for emphasis. _"Everything,_ Xanxus." Squalo's Sky smirked, ducked down to pat the woman on the shoulder and strode off up the slope, vaulting the orchard fence.

The Rain Officer glanced down at the strange Cloud Boss was –possibly– courting, over at the Box Weapon –which had rolled over onto its other side, utterly comfortable with being abandoned– then hurried after his Sky. He probably needed to bring up the issue of how Levi might take this before the Lightning found out and got it into his head to do something Stupid. Boss already owed the okama bunches for having managed to keep Levi in the dark for this long.

* * *

Xanxus had been deliberately not thinking about Levi, because Levi was a headache all by himself and a much more recent problem than the ones he was currently attempting to unravel. However shark was right, the Lightning Officer _would_ do something inadvisable when he found out about Florrie, because Xanxus was spending time with her and Levi would be jealous. Because Levi was obsessed.

It was fairly amazing that Levi hadn't found out about her yet, or at least he'd thought it was until Shark told him that Luss had summarily banned _everybody_ from saying anything that might lead to Levi finding out. He was probably going to have to do something nice for the Sun Officer as a thank you, because that had been a major oversight and without Luss's benevolent interference he might have found her dead body on one of his visits.

The realisation of his own negligence was intensely uncomfortable; he was almost grateful when Bester didn't come back to the Varia for the night, because that meant the liger was still with Florrie and she'd be safe. Levi was currently out on a mission –small mercies– but he needed to talk to his friend about this before the Lightning got back, partly so she was aware of the risk and partly to hear himself work through the problem and hopefully come up with a solution. Being around his friend had shown him that talking through a problem could make it easier to solve, even without the other person's input.

Fiddling with the stuffed tiger Florrie had given him for his birthday made it easier to avoid collapsing into a depressive downward spiral over his own short-sighted Stupid, much like cuddling with Bester did. Xanxus considered actually sleeping with it, decided that anybody commenting on his having a soft toy to cuddle with _deserved_ to be incinerated for excessive nosiness and promptly did take it to bed with him.

Florrie had a teddy bear –he'd seen it when he climbed in through her bedroom window that time– and she'd given him the tiger, so she clearly saw absolutely nothing wrong with a guy sleeping with a cuddly toy.

He slept unexpectedly well, then set out straight after breakfast to have that talk. And to retrieve Bester, of course; he couldn't leave the liger to run all over the hillside outside Varia Headquarters, somebody might panic.

* * *

Florrie listened to his slightly disjoined explanation of Levi and his issues over the breakfast table –it was surprisingly hard to explain why the Lightning still had a job in light of his many failings since Xanxus couldn't say that the man was 'the best of the Lightnings' without going into details of what Flames were and mafia conditioning– and then asked him a few careful questions:

"So he's obsessed with you?"

"Yes."

"And physically attracted to you?"

"Yes." Xanxus was very grateful she hadn't said 'in love;' that was _not_ love.

"And he regularly intrudes in your personal space, despite you making it abundantly clear that you don't want him to."

"…Yes." Where was she going with this?

His friend breathed out, set her drinking glass aside and tapped her fingers together in front of her chin. "Xanxus, he's sexually harassing you."

That was ridiculous. "He works for me; he's not sexually harassing me."

Florrie licked her lips. "Xanxus, say I got a job as an office manager and one of the people in the office I was managing decided he wanted to have sex with me and refused to accept that I wasn't interested in him. And he kept coming into my private office to proposition me, and invading my personal space and touching me, and refusing to pay any attention whatsoever to my explicit, vehement lack of interest because he didn't care about what _I_ wanted, he only cared about what _he_ wanted. To the point of invading my home in our respective off-time to press his interest. Would you say that man was sexually harassing me?"

"Yes." Obviously. And definitely asking to be horribly murdered for pulling that kind of shit.

"So why is it different when it's you that it's happening to?"

Xanxus considered this.

"If you say it's different because you are a guy I will hit you," his friend added mildly. "That's sexist garbage."

It _was_ sexist garbage and it wasn't as different as he'd initially thought it was. In fact it was no different at all and he was abruptly _really pissed off_ that he'd let Levi go on disrespecting him like that for so long. _Why_ had he let it go on? It was truly, completely and _blatantly_ disrespectful!

Oh.

Right.

Men had treated his mother like this _all the time_ when he was growing up and he'd clearly normalised it without really noticing. Which meant it wasn't just Levi; Levi was just the most blatant about it.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Xanxus pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and slumped forwards until his elbows hit the table. This was more miserable shit he hadn't noticed was ruining his life and it was happening because his self-image was warped. Because he thought having people –men in particular– disrespect him and ignore his agency for sex-related reasons was _normal_. Shit that the old fart had further perpetuated by letting people get away with disrespecting him over his mother being a whore, ignoring who he actually _was_ in favour of their idea of him. Implying that the fact of his mother being a whore was an _acceptable_ reason to disparage him.

There was the scrape of a chair being pushed back, the soft sound of slippers on tile and then Florrie was wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leaning her head on his shoulder."I'm sorry you didn't realise this was happening to you," she said quietly. "Can I do anything?"

"Can I hug you?" It was easier to not get lost inside his head dissociating when he had something alive and breathing to hold onto and. Right now. He was. Imploding. Badly.

"Of course." She slid into his lap as he moved an arm for her, sitting across his legs and leaning into his chest with one arm draped over his shoulder and the other wrapped around his side. Xanxus leant his forehead against hers, wrapped both arms around her and tried to breathe evenly.

"It's okay to cry," Florrie murmured. "Crying is how your body gets rid of excess brain chemicals; that's why you always feel drained but clear-headed after crying. It's healthy and normal."

Xanxus shuddered, hiccupped and then stopped trying to hold the storm of pain and misery inside.

* * *

When he surfaced again he was sitting on the floor with his knees drawn partway up and Florrie sandwiched in his lap, humming some song he'd never heard before and running her hands through his hair. He could feel Bester curled around behind him propping him up, the liger's head pressed against his thigh on the side Florrie's legs weren't.

It was.

Nice. Soothing.

Although he wasn't sure where the chair had gone.

"Hey, welcome back," his friend said softly, eyes meeting his from so close their noses were almost touching. Her eyes were grey, Xanxus realised vaguely, but not pale fog-grey like the shark's; Florrie's eyes were bluish slate-grey, with a darker ring around the outside of the iris that was a midnight blue so dark it was almost black. "Better?"

That was a question. Xanxus thought about it.

"Better," he agreed; he didn't feel like he was imploding now. Admittedly because he felt like he'd shattered and there were bits of him strewn across the landscape, but he also didn't get the impression that any of the bits had gone very far. Florrie and Bester holding him together seemed to have prevented that.

"Good." She tilted her head up and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "Want to lie on the sofa all morning or do you want something to do?"

A good question.

"What kind of doing did you have in mind?" Xanxus asked, quietly enjoying the solid weight of her body against his. She was very grounding.

Florrie's lips twitched. "Weeding, mostly."

Mindless, fiddly and relatively low-effort, if tedious, while offering clearly visible results. "I could weed."

"Let's weed then."

* * *

Weeding turned out to be a helpful metaphor for working through the mess that was his mind right now: pulling up unwanted growth one stalk at a time, shaking them off and setting them aside for disposal and oblivion.

He couldn't do anything about his mother except forgive her for setting such a shitty example, and –as Florrie had told him and modelled for him many times before– forgive himself for being a normal impressionable child, internalising unhealthy shit he didn't know he shouldn't have.

The old fart… there was too much to untangle there. He'd called Xanxus his son but then failed to hold the people around him to any kind of standard, letting their disrespect and bigoted cruelty –and it _had_ been cruelty, Xanxus could see now with the benefit of dispassionate hindsight– dictate their behaviour. He'd been tolerated because he was useful and spoiled because he was young and small and the old fart had wanted a pet. That was a problem for another day; possibly another month.

Right now the thing he had to deal with was Leviathan, because the Lightning Officer was where all this had unravelled from.

The entirety of Lighting Division had issues, rooted in how the Vongola –and the entire Western Underworld really– raised and trained those people with Lightning Flames. They were all victims with variously damaging coping strategies, which the Varia did its best to modify so as to increase independence and encourage creative thought.

However as Florrie had pointed out once, when you were an abuse victim –a victim of _any_ kind of childhood abuse– the people hurting you had usually been adults and therefore potential role models. So when you were grown, you then had to deal with the fact that bits of your brain had conflated 'adult' and 'role model' with 'abuser'.

That had not been a fun talk. Florrie had used her family experiences to illustrate it, but Xanxus had found himself coming up with all kinds of similar scenarios from his own life and then had to have a good hard think about how the old fart's shitty example was affecting his own leadership style. That had in some ways been even _less_ fun.

That was an explanation for the behaviour but it was _not_ an excuse; everybody had free will and could _choose_ not to act like that. As Florrie was very determinedly doing, hence the pervasive kindness and her refusal to snap if she could possibly help it, in defiance of usual Cloud stereotyping.

Logically speaking all Lightning training was abusive by definition, because the easiest way to Activate Lightning Flames was through pain. It followed therefore that most if not all Lightnings had grown up with abusive authority figures, authority figures whose abusive treatment of them had been normalised and praised by other adults.

It also followed that those Lightnings, upon reaching adulthood, had exactly two models of behaviour to follow: they could continue to be the victim or they could become the abuser. Not that the two were entirely distinct; the two roles mixed together and a person could be both at once in different situations, because having messed-up boundaries meant you couldn't tell what was or was not appropriate, either for yourself or for other people.

Levi wanted Xanxus to abuse him, because that was the only relationship dynamic he could recognise and thought that abuse meant a person cared. However Xanxus was now aware that Levi's behaviour towards him was in itself abusive, as he was summarily ignoring Xanxus's explicitly stated desires and boundaries in his pursuit of attention and validation. In letting this messy and damaging dynamic continue Xanxus was also setting a really terrible example to the rest of Lightning Division, who considered him an authority figure and trusted him to model appropriate behaviour to them. Which he was failing to do and needed to rectify, because that was what you _did_ when you realised you were failing at something.

He was going to have to kill Levi, despite it leaving him another Officer short. Damn.

Well, he _had_ wanted Florrie's take on the situation. That things had turned out like this was not her fault.

* * *

Squalo had got a nice windfall through taking a cut of the winnings from the betting pools he'd been able to resolve, but he didn't let that distract him from watching Boss. His Sky was acting differently of late and while that was to be expected really –Boss was barely seventeen and still growing into himself– and the changes so far seemed to be positive, growing up wasn't exactly a smooth process. Especially not in the Varia, where everybody had messy issues they were wrestling with; Squalo was not excluding himself there and was currently struggling with his newfound aversion to chain weapons, the sound they made in particular.

Today Boss had headed out early –nominally to fetch Bester, who hadn't come back to the Varia last night– and not come back until lunch time. He'd been almost worryingly quiet then, his presence unusually subtle and subdued, and had fetched a thick stack of files out of the Archive before ordering himself food.

He'd then promptly thrown the food out for not being _exactly_ what he'd asked for, which was normal for Boss and somewhat reassuring, but other than that he'd kept up that quiet, introspective focus throughout the afternoon and eyeballed everybody stopping by his office with silent exasperation rather than the usual explosive anger.

It reminded Squalo a lot of his memories of the fake future, the later ones from the final years of the Vongola's downward spiral before the Alliance finally shattered under the strain of the fake Sky-trash's Stupidity. It was unnerving, sending the Rain Officer's mind over recent events and current Alliance gossip in search of what it was Boss was seeing that the swordsman was missing. Looking at his fake future memories, Squalo could see that fake-Boss had seen the collapse of the Family coming –possibly years ahead– and been resigned to it; what was it about what was going on now that had Boss acting the same way? What cracks was he seeing develop that others were ignoring?

He should ask. But not right now, seeing as Boss had buried himself in paperwork of his own volition and was tightly focused on some course of action he was yet to reveal the specifics of; Squalo would give it a week.

* * *

As Head of the Varia, Xanxus was not required to take missions; it was entirely at his own discretion whether or not he chose to operate in the field. He generally did, because he wanted to, the Varia knew him better and respected him more for it and there were some missions that could only be successfully accomplished by a well-trained Sky. It was also a good way to determine who was ready for promotion, pick up on brewing trouble and to blow off steam after wrestling with bureaucracy.

He could take missions because he delegated a large chunk of his work to the Officers, who in turn delegated bits of their own responsibilities to their Division Squad Leaders and General Managers, so he could absent himself from Headquarters for weeks at a time without creating a power vacuum. However removing Levi as Lightning Officer meant his workload got added to Xanxus's, which would mean less time in the field.

The Sky fully intended to shove some of it off onto the shark –whose mission load was at Lussuria's discretion, seeing as the swordsman was still recovering from his heart transplant– but it was nonetheless a lot of work. Work that, reading between the lines of the mission reports he'd pulled from the Archives, Levi hadn't actually been doing properly. Oh, the man was completing his delegated duties impeccably –Equipment was all fully recorded, well maintained and catalogued down to the very last bullet– but his duties to his Division were rather scant.

Lightning Division had neither a Division Squad Leader nor a GM; Leviathan led his Division Squad and was nominally responsible for maintaining internal discipline and seeing to his subordinates' mental health, but practically speaking half of that was being done by Squad Leaders from other Divisions who had Lightnings in their Squads and the other half were just suffering in silence.

Over the past year Xanxus had beaten Cloud Division into something closer to appropriate Quality standards after excising Ottavio and his sycophants, but there still wasn't anybody among them even close to being fit to be Officer. Well, other than Sumu, the Cloud Squad Leader; he'd probably have to give her the Division and then have her learn on the job, rather than waiting until she was properly ready. That was irritating, but needs must. Squalo and Luss could offer her advice as peers once she was promoted and there were a handful of veteran Squad Leaders in the Division who she could order to help out.

That would probably put Castello as Cloud Squad Leader, should Sumu chose to delegate; he'd be good at it. Unfortunately the man lacked the vision for Officer despite having the required strength and ambition, or else Xanxus would have promoted _him_ instead. GM would remain Varg, who as Squad Leader of an Immortal Squad was out of the running for Officer anyway. If that hadn't been a Varia Rule Xanxus would have made Hawkeye take over the reins as Cloud Officer months ago, but leaving Marvel Squad without a dedicated minder was _asking_ for trouble; that bunch of loons needed full-time supervision to make sure they didn't get up to anything too ridiculous.

It grated to leave the job half-done, but Xanxus recognised that Cloud Division _could_ be handed over to Sumu and the others and directed through her rather than him continuing to manage it directly. Which would leave him free –well more free– to explore the difficulties plaguing Lightning Division and see about working through them. It would be a slower process than beating the Clouds into shape had been –that had been primarily about discipline– but by the end of it he'd hopefully have a Division that wasn't perpetually lagging behind proper Quality standards.

Hopefully their mortality rate would drop as well; the Lightnings visibly skewed the Varia average there.

* * *

The next time Xanxus visited Florrie it was the day before her birthday. His reason for visiting was to make sure she was okay with what he had planned for tomorrow, but the reason he'd skipped out of the Varia early rather than waiting until mid-afternoon was that Squalo was pissed at him for changing his duties around without prior warning. Which was fair; he definitely needed to start making a habit of talking to the shark more. The man had run the Varia for eight years after all, he knew what it was like, and springing shit on him was both petty and unfair. Especially when Squalo would probably enjoy conspiring with him to better avoid the old fart.

Just because his unravelling of his personal issues was private and personal did not mean he shouldn't involve his Officers in related things that were not strictly personal or private. Even though the old fart was trying to _make_ the 'helping the Sky-trash' thing personal and a family thing, it wasn't one. It was business. Alliance business even, not just Vongola business. The more people brought into it the better.

Hm. That was a thought…

He found his friend lounging under a tree in the orchard, reading a book; Xanxus couldn't see the cover but going by the faint smile and general feel of focus he suspected it was sci-fi. Well, that or high fantasy; Florrie really liked escapist fiction.

Dropping down next to her –if a little to one side so he could lean back against the tree trunk as well– he shuffled closer and glanced over her head at the page she was currently reading. Fighter-shuttle? Yep, definitely sci-fi; the idea of dwarf-built space-ships was rather amusing though. And what would elves build space-ships out of?

"Hey," he drawled after a minute or two of being ignored.

"Hey," Florrie replied absently, turning a page.

Being ignored was not something that happened to him very much. Usually it was people deliberately dismissing him because they perceived his contribution as irrelevant or unimportant, which had always made him utterly furious. Florrie on the other hand was ignoring him the way the shark did when he was practicing a new sword-form; total focus on the task to hand, to the exclusion of all else. Not personal at all.

Learning that people could ignore you without it being personal had been a hard lesson and was one he still struggled with sometimes.

"I've got some questions," he persisted, poking her arm.

Florrie looked up from her reading, half-closing the book around her fingers to mark her place. "Ask away then," she invited, slumping into him and tilting her head back for almost-eye-contact.

"Do you have anything planned for tomorrow?" The first step to getting her to agree with his plan was making sure it didn't clash with her existing plan.

"Not really; I was thinking about a late breakfast to open the presents that came in the mail, a phone-call home then a walk down to Marineo for biscuits."

He could work with that. "Willing to go elsewhere for biscuits?"

"Where did you have in mind?" She paused. "And how?"

"Trappeto and motorbike." He chuckled at her deeply dubious stare. "Promise to drive responsibly and borrowed some leathers for you." Technically they were an old Varia uniform, not motorcycle gear, but they were no less armoured and windproof for that. _Ossa dei morti_ were generally sold on stalls near cemeteries rather than in shops, so they'd be stopping by the cemetery in Partinico on the way to the seaside.

"Where's Trappeto?"

"Seaside." In fact it had the nicest beaches among those closest to the Varia and was firmly in Cavallone Territory. It was also much nicer generally than it had been before he was put on ice, due to Dino Cavallone being actually financially competent and understanding both the concept and the advantages of long-term infrastructure investments. Cavallone had fixed pot-holes and even resurfaced the road in some places about eighteen months back, so it was still in good repair, and he'd apparently contributed to some general work on the sewage system and plumbing in the towns along the coast about three years ago.

Florrie's wide-eyed delight was very flattering; Xanxus wasn't sure why somebody would be excited to go to the beach in November, but at least it wouldn't be crowded at this time of year. "Thank you Xanxus, that's a fantastic birthday present!"

"First half," he teased gently; he had more planned than just the beach, since it wasn't like they could swim or sunbathe in November with the stiff breeze coming in off the sea; they'd be lucky if it even got up to 20°C.

"First– Xanxus, what else are you planning?"

"Surprise," he sing-songed cheerfully, enjoying the range of expressions flickering across her face. He'd be buying her lunch in a restaurant, of course, but that wasn't the planned surprise.

"Why do I get the impression you've gone a bit overboard?" She sighed, knocking her head against his shoulder.

"Having fun," Xanxus countered firmly. "Let me?" He'd never had this much fun sorting out birthday presents before –his Officers' tastes were pretty narrow and he generally stuck to small or practical gifts to avoid the perception of favouritism– and it had opened up some unexpected professional opportunities as well, which he would be taking advantage of later.

Her expression softened. "Okay. Just… let me know if I have to wear or bring anything in particular, please."

Florrie had mentioned a few times that she didn't like surprises much, so that she was letting him get away with not telling her everything he had planned said a lot about how much she trusted him.

"Promise they're surprises you'll like," he assured her; he'd stuck to things she'd actually said she wanted for the big things, then done some careful extrapolation for the smaller things. He knew he'd end up spending about ten times as much as she had, but it wasn't like he was short of funds or had anything else he wanted to spend it on; Florrie was living pretty much hand to mouth and she'd _still_ spent much more than she needed to on his presents, so he felt he should reciprocate.

Florrie hummed acceptingly and they sat in silence for a bit.

"I fired Levi," Xanxus said eventually. _Literally_ fired him, in fact; he'd had the Lightning Officer report to him in his office, critically observed the man's behaviour throughout the report and used a pinch of Sky and Mist Flames to get a better picture of his mental state, then incinerated him. In front of his Division Squad, because Lightning Squad followed their Officer everywhere like good little zombies.

He'd then very calmly explained his reasoning to said Squad, informed them that from now onwards he would personally be overseeing their Division and told them to leave. Then he'd immediately summoned Sumu and promoted her, and when Squalo barged in to ask about Levi being dead he'd informed the shark that Equipment was now his responsibility and that he had three months to turn over Recruitment to Sumu.

Which was why Squalo was now loudly pissed off at him; in hindsight Xanxus recognised he could have handled it better, but he'd not been in great mental shape after dealing with Levi's everything for half an hour. Besides, giving the shark duties that would keep him in-house would reduce the risk of his Rain catching something and dying due to the immunosuppressants.

"Will that be a problem later?" Of course he couldn't tell Florrie he'd killed Levi; Omertà and all that.

"No."

"Okay." She was very good at not pushing after answers he was mostly sure she wouldn't like; at moments like this Xanxus had to wonder how much she'd guessed or inferred about what he did for a living. She hadn't explicitly asked yet, but he was sure she had noticed enough to guess 'mafia' even though she wouldn't know much of anything that was truly important.

"Found some fun winter activities?" She seemed to have settled a bit so he was pretty sure the answer was 'yes.'

"I'm going to teach myself hand-quilting and maybe do some embroidery," Florrie said easily, "and more art. Maybe turn some of my sketches into paintings or something." She paused. "I should probably buy a couple of daylight light-bulbs."

Xanxus was sure he could lift a couple from Housekeeping without being noticed; it would only be for a few months and he could take them back afterwards. "Can borrow some from the company stock."

"You stock daylight light-bulbs?"

"Work in a castle," Xanxus explained; "not many windows." Most of the daylight bulbs were on a timed circuit so they turned on and off automatically at sunrise and sunset, to make sure the building's semi-public areas were all working to the same schedule and to help the Varia adjust to jet lag in between missions. Lights with accessible switches were the regular kind.

"I take it you don't do tours," Florrie said wistfully.

"No." Florrie liked castles? "Know a few other castles around here that do though." On request, but Xanxus being supposedly a Vongola meant that if he asked those people would probably let him in and happily talk all about the history of the building in the hope of getting Vongola favour out of it. He'd probably have to do some politicking to ensure _some_ kind of affirmation or connections were made –people would feel taken advantage of otherwise, no matter that they were themselves trying to take advantage– but that wouldn't be so hard.

Which reminded him, he needed to arrange meetings with people in the wider Alliance. He should probably start with those of his Varia who were local and on good terms with their relatives and take things from there…

"That could be another fun winter activity, seeing castles," Florrie mused. "Although I can't really do that by myself, so I'll probably limit myself to visiting the archaeological museum in Marineo and asking them about what else historical is in walking distance."

Xanxus promptly resolved to arrange several castle trips; he'd used to go for long motorcycle rides every time he wanted a break from Varia insanity and combining a ride with spending time with Florrie would be the best of both worlds, even if it meant putting up with the kind of people who owned castles for some of the time.

* * *

"Do Italians not build sandcastles?"

Xanxus couldn't understand why she was so outraged by the lack of people selling buckets and spades. Had she wanted to build a sandcastle? "Sand's not good for building with."

"Dry sand isn't, no, but wet sand makes _excellent_ tide-fight castles," Florrie informed him emphatically, then paused and sighed. "Then again the Mediterranean doesn't have proper tides, not like the Atlantic."

"Tide-fight castles?" Xanxus had never heard of them.

"When the tide goes right down you build a circular wall, but higher and thicker on the side facing the sea, and then as the tide comes back in you stand inside it and see how long it takes for the sea to break through," Florrie explained, hands waving cheerfully. "You can dig a crescent-shaped ditch at the front too, to dissipate the waves a bit and reduce erosion. It's tricky because you have a limited time to do the building in and have to prioritise accordingly; also more people helping means you have to make the castle bigger to fit them all in. If you get it right then the tide will have gone past the back wall and be washing up the beach at least a metre behind your castle before the bigger waves start knocking over the front." She grinned. "It's a good idea to be wearing wellingtons while you're standing in the middle of your fortification, for when you're inevitably overwhelmed."

That did sound fun but as she had said, the Mediterranean didn't really have tides. "Anything else you wanted to do at the beach?"

"Walk up and down and enjoy _being_ at the beach, mainly," Florrie admitted, bringing her right arm up under his left and resting her hand just below his elbow.

"Could eat some bones." He'd bought quite a lot of those biscuits after all.

"Let's do that then. And please thank whoever it was who lent you this outfit, I'm very warm."

Florrie looked a bit incongruous in the mismatched and rather battered old Varia uniform she was wearing –all insignia removed of course– but in a cute way. The cute was aided by the woolly hat covering her ears and matching mittens, which were turquoise.

Xanxus was tempted to take pictures, except then the pictures would be on his Varia phone and that wasn't exactly private. The resolution also wasn't fantastic.

Still, photos would be nice to have…

* * *

Xanxus managed to keep the afternoon activity he had planned for his friend's birthday a secret right up until he turned the motorbike into the front drive of the private stables where Dino Cavallone kept and bred _Siciliani indigeni_. Part of the Cavallone's almost-two-hundred-year-long treaty with the Vongola was to keep the Family supplied with riding horses, which had been kept up despite the current prevalence of motor vehicles because horses were in many ways better for travelling in mountainous terrain and more discreet besides.

Don Cavallone occasionally sold geldings to the Carabinieri as well, which Xanxus thought was a fine joke. However right now he was savouring Florrie's excitement at the prospect of getting to do some riding.

As soon as they were off the bike Florrie tugged her helmet off, almost bouncing as she looked around eagerly at the stables and the nearby paddock with half a dozen curious horses looking their way.

"Xanxus how on earth did you arrange this?!"

"Owner's a family friend," he drawled after pulling off his own helmet, thoroughly enjoying her unabashed delight. "So I asked. No trouble."

She lunged forwards and hugged him around the ribs. "This is the _best_ birthday, thank you so _much_!"

Xanxus briefly hugged her back, aware of the eyes on them. Yes, Bucking Horse had been happy to have Xanxus bring a 'civilian friend' up to one of his private ranches for an afternoon and let them take two of the horses out for a ride in the surrounding hills, but the Varia Boss had been able to tell that Cavallone thought he'd asked because he wanted to indulge a lover, not because he'd actually made a friend. _Everybody_ was going to think his interest in Florrie was sexual, because she was a civvie and a woman and why else would the Varia Boss bother otherwise?

Squalo of course had noticed that wasn't what was going on –and honestly Mammon had probably seen it first– but most people weren't Quality and only saw what they expected to see, which was that Xanxus Vongola had finally discovered romance and was having an affair with a foreign civilian nobody. Never mind that one of the things he liked best about Florrie was that she never looked at him sexually at all…

Xanxus could live with that assumption though, because it would give him leeway: people would leave her alone, because _clearly_ it was a fling and wouldn't last. He'd be keeping her in the dark and dropping her once his interest waned, so there was no point in cultivating her. This had the added benefit that if they thought he was 'in love' some out-of-character behaviour would be both expected and indulged, because love changed people. Also if he was messing about with some foreign woman he wouldn't be panting after their sisters and daughters or tempting their wives from their marriage beds, which was what people seemed to expect from a whore's son; fewer suspicious stares and dirty looks would be nice.

He probably needed to tell Florrie about the assumptions, so she wouldn't get unpleasantly surprised if it came up, but not today. Today was for having fun.

There would be a camera in the building somewhere so Cavallone's people could photograph the horses for their records. If he asked they might agree to let him borrow it, or at least take some pictures for him.

* * *

"I have had," his friend told him, yawning as she kicked off her walking boots –and yes they were definitely dying– upon getting back to the farmstead in the dark, "the _best_ day. Thank you for everything, Xanxus, I can't remember the last time I've had this much fun." She paused. "Beyond playing tag in the orchard, that is."

Xanxus snickered; yes, that _was_ damn fun. A different kind of fun though.

"Come in?" She added, smiling up at him over her shoulder.

"One minute." He had to fetch the remaining biscuits –and her actual physical birthday presents– from the seat compartment.

He set the wrapped present and two envelopes on the kitchen table as she was making tea, then savoured her expression as she turned around and saw them. It was really great knowing he could make somebody feel like that.

"But, but Xanxus! You've been buying me things _all day_!"

He shrugged. "It's just money. Today was more fun than anything I could have spent it on for myself."

His friend softened, catching at least some of the things he didn't want to say but still meant. Setting the mugs down on the table, she leaned into him for another hug. "Don't make a habit of it, okay? I like you for you, not because you buy me things."

Florrie was a great friend. "Open them then."

She smiled and reached for them, picking up the envelopes first. The top one was just a card –although he'd spent quite a while picking one he liked– but the second one contained the business card of the cobbler the Varia patronised and a voucher for 'a pair of sturdy work-wear boots' with a fitting appointment later in the week.

"You bought me a pair of _handmade boots_?!"

"Get mine there," Xanxus said laconically, determined to make less of a deal of it than it actually was. "Last forever." Or they would if he didn't tramp around on all terrains in all weathers in them and regularly damage them via Flame exposure, because treatment could only go so far. A civvie could probably have a pair of Varia Quality boots last a decade, so long as they looked after them and paid a half-decent cobbler to re-sole them every few years. And that was with wearing them every day.

"I am only accepting these because I have secretly always wanted a pair of fitted boots," Florrie informed him sternly, poking him in the chest, "and I refuse to ask how much they cost because that would be _rude_."

Xanxus grinned cheerfully as she covertly ran her fingers over the voucher again before setting it down and picking up the actual gift-wrapped box. It wasn't anything she'd _specifically_ asked for, but it fitted the theme of the _kinds_ of things she'd asked for and what he knew that she liked, so he was hoping it went down well.

Watching her rip the paper and open the box was almost nerve-wracking.

"Origami?" Florrie read off the front of the little book, eyes drifting over the thick stack of genuine handmade paper, all printed on one side in variously colourful patterns with occasional metallic accents.

"I thought you might like it," Xanxus said, hoping he hadn't made a mistake there.

"I haven't done any of this since I was little," Florrie mused, opening the book and flicking through the first few pages. "It looks fun; I've not seen designs like these ones before." She glanced up at him and smiled. "Thank you."

Xanxus bent down and kissed her cheek. "Very welcome. Happy birthday." He paused. "Will come and fetch you for the boot fitting."

"Okay." Florrie abruptly stilled, as though something unexpected had occurred to her. "Xanxus?"

"Hm?"

"Forgive my asking, but… are you visiting anybody tomorrow?"

Xanxus knew exactly what she meant and abruptly realised that he hadn't even thought about it. Last year he'd been in no fit state to visit anybody's grave, but now…

Grandma Ottava was buried in the catacombs under the Iron Fort, but he could probably sneak in with some flowers without the old fart noticing he was there. Vongola Housekeeping might notice afterwards, but they probably wouldn't mention it to the old fart unless he asked, which he was unlikely to.

His mother's grave was a simple plaque in Palermo's Capuchin Cemetery, where she'd been buried by virtue of dying in their care. He'd visited it exactly twice before getting put on ice; both times had been due to Ottava taking him.

"Yes," he decided.

"I'm not Catholic, but if you want company…" she trailed off.

"Not for this," Xanxus said firmly. "I might stop by after though," he added quietly.

"Bring me more bone biscuits if you do?" Florrie asked, batting her eyelashes at him.

Xanxus chuckled, appreciating her attempt to lighten the atmosphere. "Maybe." Most of the Varia didn't bother with the Day of the Dead, so it would be easier to stop by here on his way back and spend some time with his friend rather than going straight home.

His friend turned around to give him one last hug and a kiss before he left. "Look after yourself, Xanxus."

"I promise."

* * *

Xanxus brought up the potential issue of relationship misrepresentation when he stopped by the farmstead after his trip to the cemetery and the Vongola catacombs, because gossip travelled at lightspeed and he didn't want there to be any misunderstandings.

"Florrie?"

"Hm?" She glanced up from the origami she was halfway through folding, a butterfly and a fish already sitting on the coffee table.

"Friend who owns the horses thinks we're dating."

She stopped what she was doing altogether, sat back on her heels and blinked at him. "Why?"

"Because you're a woman and I'm doing things with you." Essentially.

"That's _it_?"

Xanxus slumped sideways, sprawling across the sofa. "Never had any proper friends growing up," he muttered, "and was home-schooled, so not really any acquaintances either. So never went out for fun with people really. But I'm doing it with you, so assumptions are being made."

"And of course you can't say otherwise, because people assume you _have_ to be hiding something when you make suspiciously specific denials," Florrie sighed.

Xanxus hummed agreement; getting defensive would just make things worse.

"Xanxus?"

"Hm?"

"Do you want to date? I mean, what's the difference between what we're doing and actual dating?"

Impossible question! Abort!

"If I was going to date somebody seriously, I would like them to be my friend," Xanxus said very slowly after a pause to get the right words lined up. "Now though? No. Right now I have a ton of personal shit to deal with and I need to get through that before inflicting myself on somebody." He took a breath. "I like that you don't look at me like a thing to own or a trophy to win, that you don't spend time with me just because you want things from me."

"Got to answer the 'who am I' question before moving on to the 'what do I want' question," Florrie murmured.

"Yes. That." What else to say… "Do you want to date?" Because that was a very important question and how she answered it would tell him a lot.

Florrie frowned. "I… am not particularly interested in making any major commitments at this time?" she ventured. "But, well, from what I've seen of my friends dating, they seem to be basically doing what we're doing, just with more touching and declarations of strong feelings."

Hey, he knew how to answer this one. "Are you interested in sex? At all?"

His friend blinked at him. "What?"

"I mean, have you ever looked at someone anyone, a singer or a film star or even a random person in the street and caught yourself imagining what sex would be like with them?"

"No."

"Well most people do and that's why they date; because they saw somebody, thought that and then decided to get to know the person because of the pleasurable feelings they get looking at and talking to them."

"Oh." She looked like the idea had never even crossed her mind. "That… doesn't seem like enough to build a relationship on?"

"Why most people don't date for long," Xanxus agreed, much more comfortable with the direction the conversation had taken now. "The desire fades and they realise there's not anything left in common."

"Let's just go on as we were then."

"You don't mind that people might assume?"

Florrie shrugged, going back to her origami. "It would only be a problem if one of us was actually interested in dating somebody else and they misunderstood, wouldn't it? But we're not so nobody that matters is going to care one way or the other." She glanced up at him. "I'm not going to stop being your friend just because ignorant idiots can't see what's in front of them."

"Okay then." Problem solved; Xanxus closed his eyes and settled in to nap.


	3. Chapter 3

**Pick up the pieces (and take stock)**

Squalo looked around the room at the assassins Boss had ordered to be present for this meeting. From the outside they didn't seem to have anything in common –all different Flame-types, ages, specialties and ranks– but having spent as long as he had leading the Varia in Boss's place, the Rain Officer could see the common thread: these were all Varia who'd been born into prominent Alliance Families and were on at least neutral terms with their more highly-placed relatives.

That, combined with Boss's more recent demands to Information, painted an interesting picture of his Sky's plans. Boss had asked him a scattershot handful of questions about his Family in the past week as well, interspersed with muttering about the sheer implausibility of the fake future memories and a grumble of ' _cui bono_ ' that had given the Rain a _very_ uncomfortable frisson up his spine.

There was after all only one person who had tangibly benefitted from that shit-show.

Boss interrupted the swordsman's line of thought, striding into the room and throwing himself into his chair. "Not a mission," he stated flatly, "but will benefit the Alliance in the long run."

The Alliance, not the Vongola specifically; that was interesting. Squalo sensed the assassins round him pick up on the nuance and their corresponding increase in interest. Nobody at the Varia thought much of Nono these days, not after what the treacherous _scum_ had done to Boss.

"Tell your Dons I want to talk to them about the Family's future," Boss continued bluntly. "Arrange meetings; dates and times through Information." Meaning one of the Varia's auxiliary phonelines used by informants and Housekeeping rather than the official one used by people wanting to commission an assassination.

Squalo had a feeling every single Don would be remarkably keen to talk to Boss about their concerns, considering who Nono had appointed as his successor and what little they'd seen of him. "Now, Boss?"

The Sky waved a hand. "This week sometime. Not official." In other words, Boss was getting stuck into politics again.

The Rain Officer smirked eagerly; this promised to be interesting. He watched his Sky attentively as the other assassins plucked up the courage to ask questions and Boss either offered them concise answers or ignored them entirely. It was good to see Boss getting back into top form after the barrage of setbacks and disasters in the year and a half since his release.

* * *

"What's eating you?"

Xanxus glanced down at where Florrie was leaning her head back against Bester so she could make eye contact over the liger's spine. "Meaning?"

His friend gave him a flat look. "It's Christmas in two weeks and you're brooding like a bear with a migraine."

What a lovely mental image. "Old fart throws a big fancy party at the solstice every year," he grumbled, "and it's business as much as family. Black tie affair, desperately snobby. Loathe it." He was making good progress in talking to various Dons –Don Superbi in particular, proving the shark came by his good sense honestly– and had more meetings scheduled for after New Year, but that didn't mean he wanted to deal with all the headaches that came with having far too much self-important trash in one place.

"You feel doubly pressured to attend, since you work in the family business," Florrie noted.

"It's dire and I hate it; rich bitches trying to get me in private because the old fart calls me his son, petty sniping over canapés, every mistake everybody ever made in the past half-century getting aired _again_ while the old fart holds court and everybody kisses his ass when not backstabbing each-other," Xanxus complained, gesturing sharply and glaring venomously at the ceiling. "Fucking waste of time to make all the sycophants feel important and pander to the old fart's bloated ego."

"Then don't go."

He glanced sideways at her again. "Have to."

Florrie huffed. "Xanxus. Has your so-called father _ever_ done anything that he genuinely didn't want to do, simply because it was what you wanted? And I don't mean that he said 'oh I don't want to do this' for the look of the thing then did it anyway, I mean something that he was really, seriously opposed to the very idea of, but it was you asking so he conceded."

Xanxus barely had to think about it. "No."

"Then why should you?"

Good question. "He'll make my life hell."

"That is his problem and his failing, not yours. Set a boundary; boundaries are healthy. You don't want to go to the party because you do not enjoy the party, partly because most of the people there aren't even your family. That means it doesn't count as a proper family event but as work. Do you ever get any work done at the party?"

"No." It was too public for that.

"Then it doesn't count as work either and you should be given the choice of skipping out. Arrange a conflicting booking if you want an excuse he can air to explain your absence, but if not, stuff him."

It was Bel's birthday the day of the ball; he could arrange a trip to his Storm's favourite sushi restaurant. Which, oh-so-coincidentally, was in Namimori. The old fart certainly wasn't expecting the Sky-trash to attend his Stupid ball, so if he was in the same town as the brat on the day of the event he couldn't be expected to either.

Xanxus rolled off the couch onto the floor behind Bester and leaned over the Box Weapon to kiss his friend. "My hero."

"You going to stop sulking now?"

"I was _not_ sulking."

"Were too."

Xanxus lunged and the argument devolved into laughter and playful tussling.

* * *

"What did you bribe Mammon with to get them to agree with this, voi?" Squalo demanded sourly after Bel had crashed out in his seat, headphones ensuring he could sleep relatively undisturbed despite the other noises in the aeroplane cabin. The miser had dropped off hours ago –being physically three years old right now and growing twice as fast as human normal was proving challenging for them, despite Luss putting them on some kind of nutrition plan to ensure they were getting everything they needed to grow up healthily– and Sumu was reading, also wearing headphones, so there was just Luss to overhear the question.

"Money," Boss said blandly, expression mild but eyes dancing mischievously. Squalo was positive most of the money had been spent on making sure Mammon had no reason to stay behind –ensuring the miser had no work to do– than on providing incentive to come along rather than work more. Mammon's work ethic was frankly insane. That didn't mean Boss had to tease him over it though!

"Voooi!" Squalo exclaimed irritably, gesturing rudely at the Sky. He was grumpy about this whole trip and didn't care who knew it, because they were going to a sushi restaurant for Belphegor's birthday –nominally at least since the Rain Officer knew damn well that being able to avoid the Vongola Winter Ball was at least half of why Boss was doing this– and he wasn't allowed to eat uncooked fish or any kind of shellfish anymore due to his transplant. It was damn annoying.

Also the last time he'd been in Namimori he'd almost died, the time before he'd been at ground zero for the Simon mess and the time before _that_ had been the Ring Battles when he'd got wrapped up like a mummy by Bronco and had to watch Boss get iced _again_. So yes, he was twitchy and entitled to it. Namimori was _not_ on his favourite destination list.

"It's wonderful that we're all spending time together!" Luss cooed brightly, fluffing up his freshly dyed fringe while peering at himself in a hand mirror. "It's been too long since we last did any family bonding!" He paused, snapping the mirror closed, and Squalo felt the atmosphere in the cabin sharpen. "Although I for one would like to be introduced to your new friend, Boss-honey."

Boss stared at the Sun Officer from under lidded eyes but did not react otherwise.

"You owe me, cupcake," the okama said sweetly. "Cough up."

Boss made a put-upon noise and rolled his eyes, settling back into his seat. "Christmas Eve."

Luss beamed the cheerful smile of the vindicated. "Thank you, darling! I look forward to it."

Squalo did his best not to smirk too obviously at how effectively Boss had just been ambushed. The Sun Officer _had_ been rather put out to discover that the swordsman had actually met Boss's 'new friend' before him, but had still refrained from inviting himself over because 'that would be so _rude_ , Squ-chan!' Admittedly Squalo hadn't been down since that first time either –better not to draw attention to her really– but by now the entire Varia was aware of her existence and itching with curiosity. The Rain Officer was more surprised that nobody had 'accidentally' met her down the village while she was shopping that he was aware of, but Luss's orders stood and crossing Luss was something the entire Varia knew to be Very Dumb Indeed. Squalo however suspected that curiosity would start getting the better of people soon enough.

Even more so now, since it had got out that Boss had commissioned a pair of Varia boots for her on her birthday. That had fairly significant long-term implications, even without the additional news that Boss had also ordered one of the Ladies' old uniforms cut down to size for her to wear when he took her out on his motorbike.

Boss never let anybody else touch his bike, so him ensuring he could take this girl for rides on a regular basis said a lot more than anybody outside the Varia really seemed to have picked up on. Bronco for one seemed to think Boss was smitten, which was both hilarious and dead wrong. He could see why people would assume so, but the signs weren't pointing to smitten.

Squalo could tell already that it was far more serious than that. He wasn't sure Boss had noticed yet though; puberty was like that in how it messed with your awareness.

"Why make this an all-Officers trip anyway, Boss?" the swordsman complained. It wasn't like Bel cared.

"Sumu needs to meet the Sky-trash," Boss said evenly, his eyes closed, "Mammon needs to rest more but won't unless physically removed from the building, Luss likes social shit and I'm skiving off the damn Christmas party." He cracked an eyelid. "Thought you'd enjoy thrashing the sword-trash again, shark."

Hell yes that would be pleasantly cathartic. "Voi, fine!"

"Also, be rude to make you deal with the old fart in my absence," Boss added quietly. "Done enough of that already."

That was the first acknowledgement Squalo had heard from Boss of the eight years he'd missed. It was also gratitude, no matter how elliptically expressed; the Rain Officer grinned fiercely. "Just doing my job, Boss." _You're welcome_.

The Sky grunted and closed his eyes again, ostensibly napping. Squalo decided that if this was related to Boss making a civvie friend then he could live with the associated headaches; Boss was more settled in his skin now than the Rain had ever seen before and it was a good change.

* * *

Xanxus sat back and watched the shark dig into the sushi Tsuyoshi had brought; his Rain had realised on their way to the restaurant that he could bribe Mammon into ensuring he could eat all the fish he wanted and had instantly started bargaining, but the miser hadn't caved until the swordsman agreed to buy them an entire box of the cheap Japanese chocolate they liked so much and another of strawberry milk, on top of the obvious monetary fee. Mammon bolstering the shark's immune system for the next forty-eight hours while making sure it wouldn't damage his heart wasn't cheap, but the Rain Officer could afford it even with all the medical leave and having taken barely any missions this year as a result of said medical leave.

They'd arranged a private room at Takesushi –no need to censor themselves that way– and upon hearing they were there for Bel's birthday the sushi chef had immediately promised to prepare 'all the young prince's favourites,' which suggested the man knew his Storm Officer rather better than the Varia Boss had previously thought. How often did Bel pass through here?

Bel had also been impeccably polite, which never happened. He'd even let the chef ruffle his hair, which was even further outside the norm because Yamamoto Tsuyoshi didn't end up looking like a humanoid cactus for his daring. So far Xanxus had just sat back and watched the bloodthirsty royal and the shark squabble over the food at one end of the table while Luss chatted with Sumu over the less fancy dishes on Xanxus's other side and Mammon quietly ate their tamagoyaki at the far end.

It was rowdy, loud and infinitely more enjoyable than the old fart's awful Christmas parties. Xanxus was tempted to do this every year. Bel's birthday was a good excuse and it gave him leeway to do more for his other Officers on their birthdays, if they wanted to.

The volume shot up as Tsuyoshi came in with another laden tray of sushi and sashimi; Xanxus elbowed the shark sideways onto the floor so Bel could get first pick. It was the Storm Officer's birthday after all.

"VOOOOOI! SHITTY BOSS!"

The sushi chef chuckled, stepping back out of range after setting down the plates and walking around in a wide arc to collect the neat stack of scraped dishes piled up at the end of the table past the two squabbling Officers.

Xanxus could see the assassin lurking within the mild-mannered restaurant owner; it was in how he watched and moved and completely lacked any kind of fear, despite being well aware he was in the presence of the best professional killers on the planet. However Yamamoto Tsuyoshi was retired and likely had been for longer than his son had been alive. In fact not only was the man retired, but he was clearly enjoying his new profession; that was pretty hopeful, considering Varia careers tended to last a decade at best. It suggested that Quality could be applied to other disciplines and that retirement didn't have to be the end; if fact for some it might even be the beginning.

"I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions I had," the chef mentioned quietly, pausing at the Varia Boss's shoulder; Xanxus tipped his head back and raised an eyebrow. "It concerns my son and his prospects."

Sword-trash; kid was still in school since it was a weekday lunchtime, but Squalo had already loudly proclaimed his intent to spar with the brat later. Xanxus set his chopsticks down so Tsuyoshi knew he was paying attention.

"Could you clarify what exactly is expected of my son, Xanxus-san?"

Reborn hadn't bothered to sit down with Sky-trash's Guardians and _tell_ them what was expected of them? Then again, did the hitman even know? It wasn't like he was Vongola, so all he had to go on was the example set by the Ninth Generation and the remnants of the old fart's original set had all slowed down a lot in the past twenty years, so didn't do anywhere near as much as they technically should.

"Sit," Xanxus said shortly; this would take a while.

"I have other customers and your table has several more courses to come."

The Varia Boss rose abruptly to his feet. "Kitchen then."

The chef eyed him thoughtfully, but did not protest.

* * *

"Your son has pledged himself to Sawada Tsunayoshi as a samurai to the heir of a senior clan," Xanxus began, making a conscious effort to use Japanese cultural references and imagery as much as possible, "and is now considered one of Sawada's most trusted retainers. He is therefore expected to obey and protect Sawada above all else, and to have the future and wellbeing of the clan –meaning the Vongola– as his next priority. He is permitted to marry, have children and eventually retire from active service, and will be paid according to his family needs, so that he can pursue his duties without worrying himself over the wellbeing of his dependents."

The Varia Boss paused, both to see how this was going down with the sword-trash's father and to get more words lined up. "He is also expected to live, so that in living he may ensure Sawada also lives." The key difference between a Guardian and a samurai was that samurai had been expected to commit suicide upon failing something; Guardians were expected to keep themselves alive even at the cost of everything and everybody else, because their lives belonged to the Sky so they weren't _allowed_ to waste them.

"How free is he to pursue his own interests?"

"As free as Sawada allows him to be." Sky-trash had no spine and in the fake future had allowed the sword-trash to go into professional baseball, so the sushi chef's son would probably get more leeway than he really wanted to have. From what the Varia Boss had seen, sword-trash mostly wanted to feel valued; he could easily have brought up the baseball thing in the fake-future simply to see if Sky-trash would object that he wanted the older boy to stay close, then been disappointed when the oblivious moron had told him to go do whatever. Which, well. If _Xanxus_ could see that the Sky-trash was even more blind than previously thought; the Vongola's vaunted intuition had clearly skipped him since he never seemed to notice anything outside of what he thought were life-or-death battles and even then he missed more than half of what was in front of him.

"Will he be able to visit?"

"We are a family organisation," Xanxus said evenly, "so it is expected that members will either bring their families into the clan for their own safety, whether or not they are aware of what it is we do exactly. Visiting one's parents regularly is therefore expected and encouraged, for all that choice of when, where and how is left to the individual. He will be scheduled annual leave and be permitted to take time at no notice for family emergencies without having his pay docked." Not that Sky-trash's father had ever bothered to spend even that much time with his family and had always been more likely to schedule himself week-long missions abroad than actually take official holiday at all. What else was important… "He has no specific duties beyond offering Sawada his protection and support, but there is an expectation that he will take on a portion of Sawada's eventual workload according to his own skills and personal ability."

Flame stereotyping and how people would use that to try and cram the sword-trash into a box that didn't fit him was another problem entirely; that was more social pressure than actual requirement. Although being Japanese meant that sword-trash was more likely to bow to the implicit expectations than express his preferences otherwise. That'd be a waste, since doing that would ensure the Vongola fell apart faster.

Then again, it wasn't like Sky-trash had been trained to lead confidently and recognise how his choices affected other people either. Trained to fight yes, but to lead and manage a business? Unless Reborn had given the Sky-trash an intensive course over the past nine months then Xanxus really doubted it.

Tsuyoshi nodded, murmured an apology and headed out to serve another round of food; Xanxus remained where he was, in case the chef had more questions when he got back.

As it happened, the man did:

"Would Superbi-san be interested in a spar later?"

* * *

"Hiee! The Varia!"

Mother of God, why was the Sky-trash here? Xanxus rolled his eyes, huffed in disgust and slumped back into the wall of Tsuyoshi's dojo as they waited for the man to arrive; a little to his left Bel sniggered appreciatively and Luss hummed sympathetically.

"Hi Squalo-san!" Sword-trash said with an inane smile, glancing around the space with a glint in his eye that in about a decade's time might actually mature into professionalism but for now was just sword-crazy enthusiasm. "Where's Leviathan?"

"Dead," the shark said shortly.

"Boss killed him," Bel added cheerfully.

Sword-trash looked thoughtful but Sky-trash quailed, his incomprehension and revulsion painted across his face and Flames. This was the Don Vongola he was supposed to spend the rest of his life serving? This ignorant, vacillating, self-righteous _child_ who refused to consider that any viewpoint save his own might be valid and reasonable within its context?

Trash didn't even ask why or what had happened?

Fuck his life.

"Trash, this is Sumu, my new Cloud Officer," he said sharply, gesturing at her as he glared at the spineless coward the old fart had elected to lead the Vongola. Sky-trash quickly bowed and mumbled something polite while sword-trash waved; Xanxus decided his social duties were now complete and curtly absented himself, bowing on his way out. Watching the fight could have been fun, but not with the so-called Decimo present.

He'd have to find something else to do with his time. Exploring the town wouldn't be too bad since he'd not really had a chance to do so on any of the previous occasions he was in Namimori; he'd stick close enough that he could head back to join his men once Sky-trash left, so within sensing range.

* * *

"What are you doing here, carnivore."

Xanxus didn't move, remaining comfortably sprawled along the top of the wall partway up the hill that gave a good view of the town. "Avoiding the Vongola's winter party," he informed the territorial Cloud calmly.

"Hn." Behind him Hibari Kyōya's Flames signature subsided slightly.

"My new Cloud Officer was watching my Rain Officer spar with Yamamoto Tsuyoshi when I left," the Varia Boss added; Sumu was an altogether different kind of Cloud to this brat and wouldn't have any trouble defeating him if it came to a fight, but the meeting would be educational. For the Sky-trash and his idiot squad, who hadn't yet encountered any Clouds who specialised in poisons and chemical warfare. Not a common specialty for Clouds, but devastatingly effective despite that.

As anticipated, the Cloud abjectly failed to resist the implied challenge. Xanxus tracked the teenager's increasingly animated Flame signature moving along the most direct route possible through town towards the dojo and felt his lips twitch as first Bel, then Squalo, Mammon and Sumu herself registered his approach, Luss picking up on it a few seconds later. His Sun's range was rather poor compared to the rest of the Officers, but Luss made up for that with precise reading of those in range and understanding the subtle nuances in their Flames.

Florrie would call this shit-stirring and she'd be right, but it was funny and he was bored and irritable. Seeing the Sky-trash _hurt_ , reminding him of all the expectations the old fart had placed on him growing up –behaviour befitting a Vongola, skills required in a boss, respect a son should show his father– and how none of them meant shit in the face of an accident of birth.

Sky-trash didn't even meet _one_ of the old fart's shitty standards but he was still going to inherit the Family, despite having said explicitly that he didn't give a damn about it. And the old fart didn't care! Just patted the trash on the head and went on arranging matters to his liking. Hypocritical manipulative scum and his double standards.

And there, right on time, the anticipated Cloud collision. Followed by… yep, there went the tonfa-brat's Flame signature collapsing in on itself as he passed out. The abrupt and completely unexpected defeat would do his ego good.

Look at him, being all _thoughtful_ and giving the trash a taste of the wider world before they got anybody killed with their arrogance. Between the Ring Battles, the fucked up fake future, the shit-show with the Simon over the Inheritance Ceremony and most recently with the Arcobaleno Mess, it really was a miracle they'd managed to avoid dying, never mind succeeded in actually _winning._ Not that the Varia had been aiming for the kill in either the Ring Battles or the more recent Arcobaleno Mess, but the kiddies hadn't noticed.

Xanxus sighed and dropped off the wall; he might as well buy some more presents for Florrie, since he was in Japan and she'd enjoy the novelty of the things they sold here. Picturing her reactions and appreciation would be a better use of his time than thinking about the old fart's terrible decisions and constant criticism. He could stock up on origami paper too; that way she could stop rationing her birthday present and enjoy it more.

* * *

Squalo had been enjoying the prospect of a spar with a genuine master swordsman for the rare treat it actually was; it was practically an early Christmas present all by itself. Worth the heebie-jeebies of coming to Namimori again and a chance to give the place a more positive spin.

Or he _had_ until Sky-trash had shown up and his utter failure at everything had driven Boss off in disgust; damn it being the first day of their school holidays. The brat hadn't even asked why Levi was dead or what he'd supposedly done and his unguarded reaction with none the facts was just... civvie-trash. At least the sword-brat had looked –and felt– curious for all that he hadn't asked. Yet.

Boss going off for a walk to get his head together wasn't that new, having become more of a habit since summer and was a lot more productive than just drinking, brooding and throwing shit, which had been his previous go-to response. Further evidence of Boss confronting his issues and actually making progress through them; Squalo had seen what sort of psychology texts the Sky had been reading over the past six months. Dealing with Levi was just further evidence, since being aware of the problem was the first step to doing something about it. Preferably with more warning next time, for all that putting Sumu in charge of Recruitment would be tweaking her father's nose something fierce. Don Scarlatti was trying to marry his daughter off and having her in the Varia's most visible Officer position –well most visible to the wider Alliance anyway– would make most husband candidates think more than just twice.

And since Boss was off doing something vaguely constructive, Squalo decided that he should do likewise; seeing if sword-brat had been keeping up with his training would be worth the time and energy spent. So he walked up to Yamamoto Tsuyoshi as the man entered the dojo, bowed with the appropriate formality such an interaction required and asked if it would be permissible, since Squalo would be borrowing his son, student and dojo for the lesson. It wasn't like this was an emergency, so following the forms and older customs for permission to instruct was respectful. Permission was granted, which left Squalo the floor to do with more or less as he wished.

Further hammering in the basics was always time well-spent, although his part-time student would likely end up having no shortage of bruising despite the security of having the weathered eye of his father watching. Squalo wasn't going to make sword-brat use a different sword style –that'd be stupidly disrespectful, especially when the sword-brat's family sword philosophy boiled down to 'adapt or perish'– but he was going to make sure the sword-brat knew how to move, how to dodge and how to respond to all the dirty tricks that Squalo was willing to dish out in the name of training. Sword-brat was at least sensible, so he had better survive.

Maybe the sword-brat wouldn't leave such gaping holes in his defences afterwards, because no matter how quickly he learned and for all that Squalo had fake memories of thrashing the idiot into shape, there were still obvious gaps. Swords were close-range weapons, but they still needed _enough_ range for the momentum to be worth something. Especially those blades designed for slashing like katana were, so an opponent getting in any closer than that made it so sword-brat had to regain the range or get hit.

Squalo announced his intent, gave the sword-brat time to warm up and for everybody else to sit down as appropriate when watching a formal spar, then got stuck in.

It would have been easier without the Sky-trash being a knot of anxiety not even ten feet away, flinching and making some sort of noise at each clash whenever he wasn't being a pathetic cheerleader with whatever bland encouragements he stuttered out, mostly under his breath for his own benefit. After the first few times Yamamoto Tsuyoshi told Sky-trash to stop distracting them, which prompted the brat to take several deep breaths and slide into Dying Will mode, which was _so_ fucking distracting and made Squalo's neck itch with the blatant threat it offered. Yes, brat's Flames had settled down but this was as subtle as having a loaded gun pointed as his back and about as polite. It was a fucking _spar_ for God's sake!

Squalo stopped the lesson after forty minutes or so, by which point sword-brat's bruising from a few bad falls was making itself obvious and the Rain Officer was confident that his part-time student wouldn't get killed by an amateur ballsy and fast enough to get in close and go straight for the kill. If Squalo had actually been trying to kill the sword-brat then that last touch would have been brat's one hundred and first death; it felt like a good stopping point.

Squalo ended the lesson with the appropriate respectful forms, was thanked by the brat for his efforts, thanked brat's father as required and was thanked in turn for his time, instruction and the respect he had shown the Asari dojo. Very formal but very culturally appropriate, complete with bowing.

Squalo then called for observations and recommendations from the audience for suggestions towards sword-brat's improvement in general, starting with Mammon as most senior.

"Mu, I feel that there is much room for improvement in his balance and grace." Mammon didn't add any recommendations; criticism was free, advice wasn't.

Then it was Luss's turn. "He knows how to move well with a sword, but less so without. Perhaps a refresher in unarmed combat, so as to be less dependent on his blade when he cannot keep his opponents within its range?" In another era sword-brat would have had training with both a longer polearm and in hand-to-hand as part of a samurai education, but kendo generally didn't teach either nowadays. Bit of a shame, really.

Bel had his say next. "The Prince advises that he learns to fall and recover with grace. Spending so much time on the floor is only required for cleaning it." Which was ouch but a fair assessment; between Squalo physically knocking sword-brat off his feet or off-balance when not mock-killing him outright, the sword-brat had spent a fair amount of time on the dojo's floor. He'd fallen badly too, not knowing how to roll with the blows. Brat had shown improvement in that area as the spar progressed, but there was a difference between trying something for the first time and being practiced and confident enough to integrate the movements into a fight. Not all of sword-brat's falls had been Squalo's doing.

Next was Sumu and it'd be interesting to see what she'd say; Squalo hadn't really interacted with her much yet outside of work, what with her being a new Officer. "My observations are much in line with my senior Officers. My recommendation is to look into gymnastics as it promotes balance and agility while teaching one how to fall safely and recover quickly from awkward landings, which would be beneficial so long as he does not pursue the subject to the detriment of his other training and responsibilities."

And then for form's sake, despite the Rain Officer doubting that he had anything of value to add, Squalo prompted the Sky-trash. "Any recommendations or observations you'd like to add, voi?"

Which utterly shocked the Sky-trash, even though he should have expected it. Why else was he permitted to stay and watch? This was his culture; he should have recognised what was going on and anticipated the question.

And who was that making a straight-line for them?

Ah, Cloud. That'd be the Hibari-brat.

He wasn't the only one to have noticed that Cloud heading their way. Mammon and Sumu had noticed Bel doing so and noticed for themselves as well. Luss had less range but even he'd notice in a few seconds' time; tonfa-brat was making a straight run for them. Still had a bit of time before he arrived though.

"Ah, I apologise," Sky-trash said quietly, the orange fading from his eyes. "I was paying more attention to Squalo-san's actions."

Rude. What, had brat thought he'd slaughter the sword-brat in front of his own father and get blood all over the dojo's nice clean floors? Apparently no one had thought to teach the Sky-trash when to look thoughtful rather than making a fool of himself. Or even to answer with a diplomatic 'no comment' and a few platitudes like not being experienced enough to offer anything of value and some gratitude for the learning experience. Still, stating that he'd been watching Squalo rather than his friend did vaguely imply that he'd been focused on learning, while also indicating he needed to get over a bad case of tunnel vision.

"So what did _you_ learn, voi?" Squalo asked, deciding to give the brat another shot at not abjectly failing to be polite and appropriate.

Luss sighed quietly, which meant the Sun had now noticed who it was heading their way and that they had about seven seconds left.

"I counted forty-seven instances when Takeshi-kun could have died, had the blow been followed through, Squalo-san," the Sky-trash said quietly.

Less than half, even while in Dying Will Mode? That was pretty pathetic and said a lot about how much the trash didn't know about fighting generally and swordsmanship in particular. Trash also wasn't following appropriate dojo formality, which was less easily overlooked; they taught that in school, Squalo was pretty sure of it, and it would be on the television and in manga as well.

Sky-trash was a diplomatic disaster. In his own culture.

It'd only be worse in a foreign one, would it?

Squalo was almost happy to have the Hibari-brat barge into the dojo, spoiling for a fight. "A carnivore told me that this hunting pack had a new Officer. Fight me."

Squalo felt his eyebrow twitch. Shitty Boss had sent the tonfa-happy, 'oops, I don't know my own strength nor do I care for restraint,' Cloud-brat their way, into Yamamoto Tsuyoshi's private dojo where a misplaced strike could easily break something a lot more historical and valuable than a screen door.

"Knock him down," Squalo muttered sharply in French. Sumu's Flames sharpened as the order was understood and she stood up; the Hibari-brat attacked her instantly.

Sumu played with the teenager much as Boss had during the Ring fiasco, dodging the predictable but likely brutally strong tonfa-strikes limned in purple Flames, showcasing the benefits of gymnastics while she was at it. For all of eight or so seconds.

After which the Hibari-brat collapsed to the floor, visibly perplexed as a tonfa slipped from between his fingers and his Flames winked out. Then he passed out cold. Attacking Sumu was such a bad idea when you were such a brute. Made it all the easier to get poisoned, really.

"Nothing too lethal?" Sumu liked her deadly plants.

"Appreciably short of that. Boosted what he breathed in to half the lethal dose before he dropped, but it'll metabolize out of his system within the week. His muscles won't cooperate that much for the next few days, but he'll live with no lingering damage." She smoothed her hair back and tucked a loose lock into place, then bowed to Yamamoto Tsuyoshi. "I humbly apologize for the mess. Do you know of someone I could call to remove him?"

Squalo had a wonderfully mean idea. "Don't bother, Sumu. Hibari Kyōya here is one of Sawada Tsunayoshi's Guardians. He can cart Hibari off somewhere to recover."

The sheer look of panic mixed with dawning horror on Sky-trash's face as he went white with terror was probably the third nicest thing Squalo had received so far today; the breakfast sushi had been better but right now he had the satisfaction of well-timed revenge warming his heart.

"Voi, Yamamoto-san, let's get on with things shall we?" the Rain Officer added as the Sky-trash stumbled over to his fallen Guardian and hoisted the Cloud partway over his shoulder, heading unsteadily for the door. At least Sky-trash was leaving with minimal complaints.

He really wanted this spar, especially now the irritation known as Sky-trash had been dismissed to take care of his most prickly Guardian; at least sword-brat would observe and learn the lessons he was supposed to from watching the upcoming bout. Bouts.

* * *

Boss wandered back in about twenty-five minutes after Sky-trash had left, so Squalo enjoyed the second half of his hour-long spar against sword-brat's father even more than the first half and had no qualms at all agreeing to a rematch sometime. Boss idly suggested March, implying that his Sky had decided that making a bigger deal of his Guardians' birthdays was a fun way to avoid Nono. Squalo was all in favour if it meant he got to spar and eat fish, so he agreed to come back to Namimori the day before White Day.

After that they left the father-son duo to clear the dojo and open the restaurant for the day, Boss steering them towards a nearby park and a grove of trees with a good view of the surrounding area.

Luss of course commented on the shopping bag. "Have fun playing tourist, Boss-honey?"

Boss grunted, which while not exactly conversation was vastly better that getting sworn or shot at, both of which had been the norm this time last year whenever the Sun Officer asked those kinds of personal questions.

"Did you find everything you wanted?" The okama continued solicitously.

Boss shook his head briefly. "Later. Sumu, your take on the Sky-trash."

The woman looked pensive. "Witnessing his communications skills within his own culture I suspect he raised himself," the Cloud Officer said oh-so-mildly, "since any competent adult influence would have taught him more appropriate behaviour and I have met better-trained dogs. Has Reborn been teaching him anything at all about negotiation and compromise in a business setting and if so does the hitman believe that all Underworld transactions mirror the ones he has personally experienced? I find myself wondering what gaps Don Cavallone has in his education, if this is a representative example of the Sun Arcobaleno's achievements in over two years of personal tutoring."

That was a gloriously brutal dissection in complete contrast to the polite language it was couched in; exactly as expected of a Don's firstborn and an example of what the Sky-trash should be aiming to achieve.

"More interestingly, he has no faith in adults to either keep their word or protect those in their care," Sumu continued, her tone remaining light yet measured, "hence his complete focus on Captain during the spar with the younger Yamamoto. He did not trust Captain not to kill his friend despite it being explicitly a spar, or trust his friend's father to intervene in a timely manner should a murder attempt be made. This leads me to suspect that he does not _truly_ believe that he will ever be Vongola Tenth, because he can see no reason why either his father or Don Nono would bother to make such a thing happen. His experiences and personal beliefs tell him that he will be tossed aside as soon as those with the power to make that decision become aware of his inadequacies, regardless of his willingness to act."

Boss made a thoughtful sound in his throat; Squalo had not considered the Sky-trash from that perspective before but yes, it really did fit. Trash wasn't really trying at all because he was expecting to be dropped, so why make the commitment when your efforts would be wasted? So he wasn't trying at all, because that way getting dropped was something he was exercising marginal control over rather than it being a complete dismissal of his worth as a person. Trash had only learned to fight because he desperately didn't want to die or have his friends die in front of him. Physical combat with or without Flames was only one small facet of being a Don and the only one the Sky-trash seemed vaguely competent in thus far, seeing as he and his associates were still alive.

"Don Vongola, being a man unconsciously confident in his own worth and ambitions, cannot see it," the Scarlatti heiress went on, "and the External Advisor cannot see beyond his own delusions either. Thus Sawada Tsunayoshi will only truly grasp the depth of his predicament when he is eventually granted full power over the Vongola and the Alliance, or at best a few months beforehand. And then he will break, because he is not confident in his desires and has no higher goals to speak of, so has nowhere to lead _to_." She paused. "He is also utterly oblivious of how his actions and words affect and reflect upon others, due to his certainty of his own worthlessness. He cannot conceive of having influence over others, so is unable to exercise it in a positive manner."

That explained the fake-future far too well really; they were all completely fucked.

"It might be possible to improve things slightly," Sumu conceded with a sigh, "but it would take a great deal of cognitive behavioural therapy alongside copious emotional support and an intensive education programme. Fixing the Captain's heart is simple in comparison."

Wait, what? "Voi, run that past me?" Squalo demanded.

His newest colleague quirked an eyebrow. "Which part, Captain?"

She fit right in with the rest of his colleagues, teasing him already. "You think you can fix my heart?"

"Mist-augmented gene therapy seems most likely to succeed," Sumu explained, glancing at Mammon and Luss, who were both paying a whole lot more attention all of a sudden. "I mean, genetically speaking there's not much more than a point one percent variation in the entire human population, not accounting for copy number variations, so isolating which cells in your heart have nuclei, imposing a Mist-copy of your DNA over the top of the donor genome at the points where variations exist and then stimulating those cells to synthesise new DNA –as in a viral takeover– would probably not be too challenging or too time-consuming. And replacing the mitochondrial DNA as well, of course; best not to overlook anything."

Squalo turned to the Sun Officer, painful hope rising in his chest. "Luss?"

"I mean, theoretically?" Lussuria frowned behind his sunglasses, fingers tapping as he thought. "It would have to be carefully timed, so your heart wasn't weakened while the process was ongoing, and there needs to be some way of marking which cells need to be killed off and at appropriate intervals if we do the DNA replacement by hijacking normal cell replication, but I agree it's far less hassle than the angle I was pursuing. Mammon?"

"If we start experimenting upon getting back we will know for sure shortly after New Year," the Mist Officer said instantly. "The process is straightforward enough; a well-structured Curse would do it, provided all variables are accounted for."

Squalo turned back to Sumu. "Voi, I could kiss you," he said hoarsely. He'd been trying not to think about how the projected lifespan of somebody with a heart transplant was barely fifteen years, or about how unpleasant and dangerous the side-effects of immunosuppressants could get. This though? Having his donor heart truly become _his_ so he could be free of the drugs?

She smiled faintly. "Wait until it works; I'm not sure what can be done about the nerves –they don't reproduce often, if at all– so it may not be as effective as it sounds."

"Gene therapy to replace the nuclei of neurons is still viable, cutie-pie," Lussuria said firmly, "so don't put yourself down. I've got a good feeling about this!"

"Well in that case," Sumu murmured, eyeing Squalo thoughtfully.

"I owe you _big_ for this," the Rain Officer told her seriously. If she wanted that kiss he was more than happy to oblige. "Say the word."

"Not a kiss exactly," The Cloud said carefully, "but somewhat along those lines. You know my father is trying to marry me off?"

Squalo nodded; it wasn't exactly a secret that Don Scarlatti found his daughter's career an affront to his sensibilities and that he wanted her to settle down, preferably with a business connection of his choice. Sumu being Varia meant there weren't as many men interested as there might have been.

"Well in light of recent developments" –probably her abrupt promotion to Officer, Squalo suspected– "I've realised I'd much rather not. Which you could help me with if you're willing, Captain?"

"What, pretending to date?" It wouldn't be a hardship; Sumu was Officer Quality after all and good-looking besides. It could even be fun.

"Nothing so serious." She smiled more widely; the expression was distinctly feline in its sneakiness. "We simply fail to insist that we are _not_ dating. After all you have to introduce me to various Alliance people during the changeover of Recruitment duties, so people are bound to comment considering our respective family backgrounds. An innuendo here, an in-joke there, a failure to quash others' misinterpretations…" she trailed off suggestively.

The Scarlatti had been not-quite-feuding with the Superbi for over a century; the possibility that the Scarlatti Heiress had taken up with the Heir of the newest Superbi Branch Family would be _very_ hot gossip. With the Alliance as worried as it was over the Sky-trash, any more palatable distraction would instantly be seized upon and greedily devoured. "Voi, sounds fun," Squalo admitted; it would keep the matchmakers at bay too, as his heart transplant had meant his extended family –including his uncle the Don– had suddenly started asking him when he was going to retire. And telling him he should visit more often, to catch up with distant relatives.

"Be a good cover for political shit," Boss mused idly, his general feel one of vague amusement. Well good for him; Sumu was after all emulating the example their Sky was setting with his new civilian friend, letting the rumour mill tell its plausible lies and using it to his advantage.

Well, why not?

"I'm going for celebratory sushi; coming?" Squalo asked the Cloud Officer cheerfully. "My treat."

"Call me Lessi and yes," she told him, laughter lurking in the corners of her eyes.

"First-name terms then, voi," Squalo agreed with a broad grin. She'd definitely earned that much.

"The Prince also wants sushi," Bel declared. Squalo waved dismissively; for this he would buy _everybody_ sushi, seriously.

"Voi, whatever."

"Mammon and I will join Boss for the rest of his shopping and to hash out the details," Lussuria decided. "See you back at the hotel in a few hours, darlings!"

* * *

"Haha, back already?"

Squalo grinned sharply at the sword-brat, who was now wearing an apron and whose bruises were only just starting to go purple around the edges. "Got some good news," he said vaguely, "so I'm celebrating." Brat looked like he wanted to ask, but Bel announced his order so his part-time student wrote that down instead, asked Sumu what she wanted then wrote down Squalo's requests as well.

After the orders were brought through and handed around, the brat lingered; Squalo side-eyed the teenager over his sashimi and rolled his eyes.

"Voi, just ask."

"Why did Xanxus-san kill Leviathan?"

Hey look, a sensible question. "Levi was disrespecting Boss," Squalo said shortly, curious as to whether the sword-brat would notice the nuances.

"Not obeying orders then?"

Not quite. Levi had zealously obeyed all of Boss's work-related orders; it was the ones involving the Sky's personal space that had been ignored. "He was flouting Boss's authority and not carrying out his duties appropriately." That was even the official line.

"Ah." Sword-brat picked up on _some_ of the implications there, at least. Probably not all of them though; sword-brat hadn't known Levi well enough and lacked the life experience to imagine some of them. "Erm…"

"Voi, sit down if you're staying," Squalo grumbled, waving his chopsticks at the empty cushion to his right. Sumu was sat opposite him and Bel was next to her, so there was space.

Brat sat. "There were more than forty-seven potential killing blows," he said without preamble.

"One hundred and one," Squalo agreed; "Sky-trash doesn't know shit about swordsmanship so can't recognise what he's seeing."

A pause. Squalo ate more of his sashimi.

"Why did you lose the Rain Battle, Squalo-san?"

Finally a _good_ question. "Orders," the Rain Officer said succinctly.

"Whose orders, Squalo-san?" Brat's eyes had sharpened up now he was on the hunt, if for answers rather than for the blood of his enemies. Then again, brat might decide this was a situation that warranted blood by the time he had those answers.

"The one who nominated Boss for the Ring Battles." The brats seemed to have forgotten that Nono had nominated Boss at all in light of the aftermath of the Cloud Battle and the subsequent disaster of a Sky Battle, despite it having been made pretty damn explicit that Boss wouldn't have been out of the ice at _all_ without Don Vongola's intervention.

"Xanxus-san really was nominated?" Sword-brat frowned.

"Boss was defrosted _for_ the Ring Battles," Squalo agreed, scrupulously not saying any of the things he wasn't allowed to say. Sword-brat would figure some of it out.

"Despite being, well," Sword-brat gestured vaguely, "adopted?"

"Makes you think, doesn't it?" Squalo said mildly.

"Why did Reborn claim Smoking Bomb was a genius when _your_ opponent is the only one able to see past the end of his nose?" Bel complained huffily, poking his sushi with considerable vehemence. "The Prince was cheated."

Sword-brat rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled sheepishly. "Ah, well, I know I misunderstand things sometimes," he said easily, "so I like to double check."

"If you're too arrogant to know you might be wrong then you're not a genius at all," the Storm Officer said shortly. "If the Prince had been granted free reign he would have shredded the Smoking Bomb for his idiocy and blindness." He bit into his sushi and chewed, sulking visibly. The 'no murder' and 'no maiming' orders had prompted Bel to reply with 'no fun' and sulk for hours when they came down.

"Gokudera's not so bad."

"Vooooi, he's a blind fool taking advantage of another blind fool," Squalo said sharply; his memories of the fake future had made it very clear that the fake Smoking Bomb had served his own interests more than the Vongola's and that man had his roots in the reactionary, ambitious and possessive scum who insisted on calling Sky-trash 'Tenth' despite Sky-trash making it abundantly clear he didn't want anything to do with the Underworld.

Fucking pair, those two; neither one understood the other in the slightest. Squalo didn't know what Reborn had been thinking, introducing Smoking Bomb to the Sky-trash. Smoking Bomb wasn't even a good choice to further Sky-trash's education on the Vongola Alliance as an 'insider,' what with having been a freelancer since running away from home and a civilian until he was taken in by Trident Shamal.

"Tsuna isn't blind."

"Sky-trash refuses to look at what's in front of him because if he can't see it, he doesn't have to do anything about it," Squalo said brutally. "Until he gets his act together that's not going to change."

Sword-brat offered him a very brittle smile, rising stiffly to his feet. "I'll see you in the spring, Squalo-san."

"Rains," Sumu said quietly once the teenager had left. "Won't ever consider they might have picked the wrong leader, because where would that leave them then?"

The Rain Officer glared at her. "Fuck you very much, Lessi."

She grinned at him. "You wish, Squalo. I wasn't criticising, just commenting."

Yeah, right. "And I'm the queen of Spain."

"Not even marrying royalty would make _you_ royal, peasant."

So they were ganging up on him now? After he'd agreed to feed them? He got no respect. "VOOOI!"

* * *

"So what are we doing about the Sky-trash, Boss?" Squalo asked once they were all on the plane and flying back to Sicily.

"If we are arranging accidents then I want to do Smoking Bomb's," Bel added, fingering his knives.

"Ignore the Chew Toy," Xanxus said flatly; "he's a distraction. Actual problem is the old fart, who won't recognise his chosen successor's wilfully and intentionally incompetent and isn't bothering to provide any training to ensure otherwise."

Belphegor instantly collapsed into giggles the moment he heard the undignified nickname the Varia Boss had pinned on the prospective Decimo. "Shishishi! Chew Toy! That's perfect Boss! I love it!"

"What's the plan then Boss?" Squalo asked as the Storm Officer shook with uncontrolled laughter.

Xanxus shrugged. "Ensure that the Alliance will remain standing and united, so that when everything goes to shit the Dons can get together and pick another bloodline to lead them." Unlike what had happened in the fake future, where the Alliance had shattered and the Millefiore had been free to pick off entire Families at their leisure.

"What about the Rings?"

"Talbot." Xanxus was damn sure the ghoul could adjust the blood-lock to some other line if need be; he'd messed about with the Vongola Rings before now after all. "Or buy a new set; just because those rings are locked to the Vongola line doesn't mean the Head of the Alliance needs to wear them." Chew Toy could keep those rings and good riddance; make them a private Family inheritance anchoring the Tri-Ni-Sette rather than a symbol of Underworld leadership. That was what the Mare Rings were, technically belonging to the Giglio Nero despite having migrated to Byakuran Gesso's hands following the fake future, since the crazy trash had been wearing them during the Arcobaleno Mess.

"Blasphemy," Sumu said dryly, clearly not meaning it in the slightest.

"So practical, Boss-honey," Lussuria mused, not looking up from his reading.

Yeah, well, he couldn't really afford to be anything else at this point, could he? Closing his eyes and moving his stuffed tiger behind his neck, Xanxus settled in to nap. It was a long flight home.

* * *

When Xanxus headed downstairs at half-past eight in the morning on Christmas Eve, having every intention of heading over to his friend's and sleeping off the rest of his jetlag on her sitting room floor with Bester rather than putting up with Varia Christmas shenanigans a day earlier than he had to, he found Lussuria already there waiting for him, several sturdy paper gift bags hanging off one arm.

"Boss-honey, I _know_ you," the Sun Officer informed him with a bright but steely smile. "I have presents from Housekeeping to deliver as well as a little something of my own, so do lead the way."

The Varia Boss rolled his eyes and grumbled a little, but set off at a steady walk towards the south wall. Housekeeping were in on this? Why were Housekeeping in on this?

It turned out Housekeeping were in on this because they wanted Florrie to have a bottle of the oil pressed from her olives. And a cassata. And a paper box full of really huge cannoli, a slightly smaller box of _giurgiulena_ and another box of painted marzipan fruit. His friend looked utterly bamboozled by the sheer volume of desserts; Xanxus was honestly pretty shocked too. This was enough to feed one person for a week, just on sweets!

"The staff love Boss, cutie pie," Luss said gently, "and you've made a real difference for him." he paused, eyes running over the spread covering the kitchen table. "I also think they're out of the habit of cooking for less than an army, so they went a bit overboard."

"Maybe just a smidgen," Florrie said wryly. "Well, at least I know what I'm going to be eating this week." Her eyes drifted across the table again. "And next week too, probably."

Xanxus came up behind her and hugged her, ignoring his Sun Officer beaming behind a hastily-raised hand. "Cassata keeps least, so start there," he recommended, "then the cannoli. _Frutta martorana_ " –the marzipan fruit– "keeps better, and _giurgiulena_ better still. A month, even. Don't rush yourself." He hadn't realised the changes he was trying to make had been this obvious; he still felt like he was struggling to achieve anything at all. That Housekeeping could see a difference was hopeful, if a bit embarrassing.

"It would be a shame to make myself ill, yes," Florrie agreed judiciously, leaning back into his chest and tilting her face up to smile at him. "Want to help me get started on the cassata?" She glanced over at Lussuria. "Would you like a slice too?"

"Oh no sweetheart, I've not even had breakfast yet," the Sun Officer said warmly. "I just wanted to bring these over first thing, along with a little something from Squ, before I got caught up in arranging things for tomorrow."

"Squalo got me a Christmas present?" Florrie looked alarmed. "I didn't get him anything!"

Luss moved closer and patted the Cloud's hand. "He knows that pigeon; you can share some of your cannoli with him if he comes over, he likes those. I've put the presents under your adorable little tree in the sitting room for tomorrow, okay?" He leaned in to exchange goodbye kisses, which Florrie reciprocated without hesitation. "Now you take care, sweetie, and don't hesitate to get in touch if you want to talk; I've put my number in your phone." The Sun Officer then left.

"Thank you, bye!" Florrie called after him, before glancing back up at Xanxus. "Is… are they always like that?"

"If they like you," Xanxus agreed, slightly bemused by how _much_ Luss clearly liked Florrie. He'd never even met her before! Florrie's spontaneous moderation of pronouns also had good implications, so he wasn't going to refer to Luss as 'he' when the only reason Xanxus called the okama 'he' in the first place was that in the Varia _everybody_ was 'he' until they specifically requested otherwise. Which Luss hadn't yet, well not in real life anyway; the fake future didn't count.

Florrie patted his arm, then extricated herself from his grasp to move the cannoli into the old-fashioned pantry next to the front door; not as cold as the fridge, but less damp and still cool enough that they'd stay fresh for a few days. "You have really great friends."

Xanxus had not previously considered his Officers to count as friends. They were his subordinates, if also his Guardians and therefore Family. But, well… it wasn't like he had any _other_ friends, other than Florrie of course. And they were friendly and mattered a _lot_ to him, so maybe?

"Cake?" Florrie offered, fishing in a drawer for a knife.

"Later?" Xanxus asked. "Still jetlagged."

"Why are you even here if you're that tired?"

"Wanted to see you." He smiled as his friend threw up her hands in fond exasperation. "Also wanted to nap somewhere the old fart couldn't find me."

"The sitting room sofa is all yours," his friend said instantly; he loved her so much. "Do you want an extra blanket?"

"I'll be fine." Xanxus paused, abruptly realising he'd forgotten something important. "Bester might follow me down." He couldn't just let the liger out in her house, she'd notice.

"If he does I'll let him in, but I should put away the food first or he'll try to sample it," Florrie decided. "You go lie down."

Xanxus bent down to kiss her forehead. "Love you." He used the words that translated into English as 'I want good things for you,' which was the 'I love you' generally directed towards friends and completely distinct from the romantic ' _ti amo._ '

"I love you too." She went up on tiptoe and kissed his chin. "Now go sleep so you can join me for lunch later."

Xanxus went; he could give her the presents he'd brought over from Japan later, when he was in a fit state to entertain her with the fun parts of the trip. He also needed to let Bester out _outside_ the house in the interests of preserving Omertà, which would require him to open a window for a moment and then quickly close it again before the big cat could jump inside.

Bester would definitely be offended, but needs must; he could make it up to the liger later with steak.

He took a moment to admire the little Christmas tree with its origami star sitting on the top of the sitting room sideboard, surrounded by a small mound of packages –most of them clearly having arrived by post– before firmly closing the door behind him and heading over to the window. He should have let the Box Weapon loose before leaving the Varia, but running into Luss on the doorstep had distracted him and now here he was, attempting subterfuge in a situation where he was very likely to get caught out due to how tired he was. Shark would laugh in his face if he ever heard about this.

* * *

Since the Italian financial year ended on December thirty-first, the half-week after Christmas was always a scramble for assassins trying to get their expenses submitted in time. Florrie, being Mammon's accounts assistant, got dragged into this as well, so Xanxus considerately avoided visiting her until the thirtieth, when the Mist Officer marched into his office to announce that the books balanced and everybody who _hadn't_ submitted their expenses yet was getting fined and would be dealt with _next_ year.

His physically-three-years-old Officer placated with strawberry milk and the assurance that everything else could wait until January the second, Xanxus submitted a copy of the completed accounts to the Vongola via courier, filed the originals in the Archive and vacated his office to go make sure his friend had survived the experience in reasonable shape.

He found Florrie slumped on her couch in her pyjamas, nibbling a slice of watermelon-painted marzipan, her sloppily braided hair looking like she hadn't washed it since Christmas. Over on the sideboard the Christmas tree was now surrounded by cards rather than presents, along with a few framed pictures. One of them had been taken on her birthday and was of the two of them hanging onto each-other and laughing, his friend with her hair sticking out all over the place; not pictured was the disgruntled horse they were laughing at, which had just stolen Florrie's hat and made a pitifully betrayed noise upon realising it wasn't actually edible.

Glancing away from the reminder of fond memories, Xanxus came up behind the couch and leaned over his friend. "Want a drink?" He offered quietly.

She nodded.

"Hot drink?"

Another nod. "Tea, please," she whispered.

Xanxus went to make tea. Considering the state Mammon was in, Florrie probably wasn't feeling any better.

"Thanks," she mumbled when he set her mug down the coffee table in front of her, settling himself next to her but leaving a gap between them so she didn't feel crowded. Xanxus reached out and briefly squeezed her shoulder, then opened the book he'd taken off her shelf so he had something to do while she rested.

About twenty minutes later she shifted over so she could lean into him; Xanxus smiled to himself, shifted an arm to wrap around her shoulders and continued reading. She didn't fall asleep, drifting instead into a semi-catatonic doze that Xanxus had seen a time or two in Clouds who'd pushed themselves too far and become over-stimulated; the brain could only take so much, so if they Multiplied or Magnified their senses without regard to their limits they crashed hard.

Florrie hadn't quite done that, but she'd still overworked herself and needed to recover. Xanxus decided that he liked the idea of a quiet New Year with his friend.

* * *

"Hold this, please?"

Xanxus accepted the basket full of bitter oranges, handed his friend an empty basket and crouched down to transfer the fruit into one of the crates stacked up by the fence. Florrie had been picking the blood oranges intermittently all through the second half of December, tracking how ripe they were, but she'd not touched the bitter oranges until today and she was picking all of them at once.

His friend had assured him it was now 'marmalade season;' he'd seen the massive pan she'd borrowed from some old lady down in Marineo and had even helped her cart all the crates of sugar up the hill in the week before the Vongola winter ball –well the week before his trip to Namimori to avoid said ball– and seen the boxes and boxes of jam jars Housekeeping had given her to store it all in, but even after all that it hadn't quite sunk in quite how _much_ cooking his friend had planned.

Standing up, he swapped out his empty basket for another full one, glanced around the orchard –there were another two bitter orange trees– sighed and crouched down again.

"Sure you can hack processing all this?"

"I'm not planning to," his friend said, bracing her foot in the fork of a branch so she could reach higher. "Your housekeeping staff have offered me money for at least a tree's worth, which I suspect is going to be turned into alcohol, and are also acting as middlemen for a few of your colleagues who are paying me half now, half with the fruits of their labours. That ranges from candying the peel to a promise of mulled wine, by the way."

Trust the Varia to find a way to interact with Florrie despite the ongoing prohibition; he suspected the Varia Ladies were behind this, they were sneaky. There were certain Varia Mists could get a read of people from things their target had touched and the only people who'd touched these oranges were him and her.

"Still going to be busy," he pointed out, getting up and swapping baskets with his friend again.

"I know, but I'm planning on ringing the changes; it's not all going to be marmalade, I'm going to have a go at turning some of them into candied peel and try some different recipes. Like mixing some of the batches with a proportion of the lemons or the blood oranges."

"Thought you said those weren't ripe yet?"

"Not quite," Florrie conceded, climbing out of the tree and moving the ladder around, "but I've got about a fortnight's work here and by then I'm probably going to need to start picking the other stuff. The lemons are definitely getting there so I'm going to cut into one tomorrow, but I'm leaving the blood oranges for another few days before trying them again."

"Got plans for those?" He asked as she climbed up the ladder again and continued picking the thick-skinned fruit.

"Again, your people want a lot of the lemons for cooking with," Florrie said, handing down another full basket of fruit. "The blood oranges I've promised to sell to a guy with a market stall in Marineo; he's offering me good money for them and will be coming up here with a truck the moment I tell him they're ready."

Blood oranges were very popular and sold extremely well; Xanxus couldn't say he was surprised she'd found a market for them. "All of them?"

"I did not explicitly say _all_ of them," Florrie conceded, "But it's probably going to be most of them. I'll be keeping the ones with marked skin and so on –I do want to enjoy some for myself– and possibly keeping some of the better ones as well, but I'll have to get them off the trees before calling him, since he's fine with picking the rest himself."

Xanxus suspected the guy would show up with a bunch of relatives he wasn't paying to do that bit; the Sky rather wanted to hang around, to make sure everything went smoothly. Even if the local civvies didn't know him on sight as the Varia Boss, they'd still recognise his uniform and general demeanour and mind their manners accordingly; it _was_ Varia Territory after all.

But that would attract attention and make people notice that his friend lived _here_ , which he wasn't keen on. Better to watch from a distance.

* * *

Taking Florrie around various snobby impoverished ex-noblemen's medieval castles was actually really fun; Xanxus hadn't expected it to be. He was mostly doing it to be out of the office –and thus unreachable to the old fart– enjoy being on the motorbike for a while and eat lunch with her somewhere afterwards, but his friend's genuine interest in the local history and architecture inevitably charmed their hosts within the first twenty minutes and the aging aristocrats soon forgot they'd wanted to suck up to a Vongola in favour of going into detail of various ancestors and what remodelling had been done over the centuries, where the money had come from and telling stories about various fixtures and who the paintings were of.

This was the third such visit and the novelty was yet to wear off.

In the absence of oily smarm the history was actually pretty entertaining, especially since Xanxus could fit the recent history –the last two-hundred years– in with what he knew about the Vongla's expansion and the rise of the mafia, filling out the picture being painted to Florrie into something more complex and grounded. A lot of the details were things he hadn't known before –his education had been fairly lopsided really and he was making plans to round it out more– and the funny family stories reminded him of various Vongola anecdotes Grandma had told him when he was younger.

It was… it had been a long time since he'd been pleasantly surprised by strangers like this. He'd arranged it because he'd known Florrie would enjoy it and enabling her to do things she enjoyed was inherently satisfying. It made him feel like he was achieving something constructive.

Of course Florrie would tell him that she wasn't his friend because he did things for her, she was his friend because she liked the person he was and wanted to get to know that person better, but Xanxus knew he struggled with expressing himself –with being vulnerable– and making arrangements so they could go do things she enjoyed was a way of showing her he noticed those details and that he cared. He couldn't just talk and bare his heart like she did –she was so fucking _brave_ and it made him feel like a dirty coward– so he had to find other ways to make sure she knew he was just as invested in their friendship as she was.

He didn't give a shit about money and didn't really think much of his Vongola connections either –especially not the ones built on the lie that he was the old fart's son– but they did open doors and for the first time in years Xanxus actually wanted those doors opened. For his friend, so she could spread her wings and soar a little.

It was partly selfish, of course; Florrie would be going home in a little over half a year and he already wasn't looking forward to it. He'd gone into getting to know her expecting things to fall apart, but they hadn't and now he was finally realising that he didn't want her to go. Or that he wanted to at least give her lots of reasons to come back.

Clouds only came back if they were genuinely invested and Florrie had known staying here was temporary right from the outset, so persuading her it was safe to commit properly was going to be really hard.

Wait.

What was he thinking?

Was he _courting_ his friend? As a Sky courted a Cloud that resonated with their Harmony? Trying to coax her into bonding with him completely so it didn't matter where she was or how long she drifted, she'd always be his in every way that mattered and come home to him?

Oh _fuck_.

Xanxus tried to pretend he hadn't just been bludgeoned over the head by an unexpected revelation; thankfully Florrie was focused on their host and him on her, so he had time to pull himself together and breathe through his shock.

Hopefully he'd have settled a bit by lunchtime, or else she was going to notice and he really did not know what he was going to say if she did.

The worst part was that he didn't want to stop. Even though not stopping meant bringing her into the Vongola and all that implied, even if she stayed functionally civilian.

Fuck and shit, _this_ was why Bester was always all over her, wasn't it? He was such a _moron_.

* * *

Xanxus hadn't consciously poked at his friend's bonding conditions before now. He'd known she'd have them –well-defined ones, because abuse and trauma made a person very particular about what they wanted and needed– but he'd not looked. Because they were private, because she was Latent and because he hadn't been _looking_ for a Cloud Guardian damn it; or at least he'd thought he wasn't looking.

In between listening to Florrie chatter happily about the visit over a late lunch and reminding her of various details she'd missed or forgotten, Xanxus took a proper Look at her Flames for the first time.

She wanted somebody who would tell her the unvarnished truth and not hide important things from her. She wanted somebody who genuinely cared about her as a person and was prepared to be kind. She wanted somebody who would let her help them achieve their goals. She wanted somebody willing to support her in her pursuit of her own goals. She wanted somebody willing to be physically affectionate, who wouldn't make physical affection conditional on her conforming to their expectations.

He could do all that. He _wanted_ to do all that. But.

But.

If he wanted to _get_ all that, he'd have to tell her the unvarnished truth _first_. About Flames, about the Varia and about himself. Because if he fooled her into thinking he _was_ doing all that and they bonded _before_ he'd given her those facts, she'd take the eventual revelation as a betrayal, break the bond and _leave_.

He knew she would; she wouldn't care that it cut her straight to her soul and left her spiritually haemorrhaging. She wouldn't _want_ to be bound that deeply to somebody who was prepared to deceive her like that and would mutilate herself without a second thought if it meant being free of them.

Xanxus could see that in her because that was one of the things they had in common. It was why he _loathed_ the old fart and was never, ever going to rebuild that relationship. Not ever. Some betrayals you couldn't go back from.

How was he supposed to just _tell_ her? Where did he _start_?! Omertà was still a problem here!

He was grateful when Florrie finished her dessert, as it meant he could suggest they went home. Keeping his mind on the road was rather more challenging than usual with his thoughts running in tight, panicked circles inside his skull –he knew he was being irrational but that didn't make the _visceral terror_ go away and there was no guarantee that she'd take things well– but he didn't crash or have any obvious near-misses.

After dropping her off at the farm Xanxus made work-related excuses –technically kind-of true– drove back up to Headquarters and locked himself in one of the shooting ranges. The repetitive activity would help him settle. He hoped.

* * *

"Have you met her, Squalo?"

Squalo huffed; yes, talking to Bronco and setting up a meeting was his contribution to Boss's increasingly serious campaign to shore up the Alliance in the likely event of Chew Toy –best possible nickname for the Sky-trash, seriously– proving a disaster, because while not technically Alliance the Cavallone were a major Ally, but unfortunately that meant talking. To Dino. Who was fishing.

"Voi, met who?"

The blond eyeballed him levelly. "Your Boss's lady-love, Squalo; he called me to request I let him borrow my horses to take her riding on her birthday and my men say he was very attentive. They even have pictures; Xanxus borrowed one of the cameras to document the occasion."

Of course Dino was asking him; his uncle Don Superbi had asked him too, because he was Boss's right hand and was expected to know. "I've met her." Twice. He'd stopped by on St Stephen's Day to see how she'd liked her present –a pair of properly sharp kitchen knives– and been plied with cannoli.

"You like her."

Squalo wanted to roll his eyes; he settled for letting his expression flatten. "Boss has standards, voi." Which was entirely true; despite Florrie _not_ being Boss's lover she still met all the Sky's very high personal standards.

"How serious is it?" Trust Bronco to ask the awkward question; Squalo was dead certain Boss was entirely serious, despite the relationship not being romantic in the slightest. The Rain Officer settled for telling a different truth:

"Boss has no intention of settling down any time soon; getting the Family through the upcoming transitions is much more important." Ensuring the Alliance was still standing after Chew Toy imploded –like he had in the fake future– was his Sky's driving focus right now.

Dino tried to smile knowingly, which fell flat when he was working off laughably false assumptions. "Stress relief then? I've heard he's much less tense these days."

It was kind of sad that everybody thought that 'incandescently furious' was Boss's default state, rather than that anger being a completely reasonable response to the shitty things Nono had put him through. That his Sky was managing to work through all that baggage and shed some of it was a fucking _miracle_ and that Florrie was helping made Squalo like her a lot more than two brief meetings could really justify; that she had no ulterior motives for doing so meant Squalo was lighting candles in church to thank the Virgin for putting her in the right place at the right time.

That people would rather put the difference down to sex… Squalo ground his teeth. "Vooi, who are you talking to about Boss's personal life with?!"

Bronco put up his hands defensively. "Nobody, Squalo, I promise! Not when she's a civilian! I wouldn't say anything that might get her targeted!"

"Good," Squalo bit out. "Boss wants to talk politics with you; the transition's not going to be smooth, what with Nono's chosen successor being foreign." Among other things, but the Dumb horse liked Chew Toy so Squalo couldn't say what he really thought there. If Bronco took over teaching diplomacy and the details of mafia and Vongola culture maybe Chew Toy would learn a few things; something he should mention to Boss to consider for the meeting.

"Of course I'm willing to discuss mitigation strategies and how our Families can support each-other," Don Cavallone said warmly, letting the subject be changed without further comment. "Would next Tuesday be convenient? A working lunch?"

Squalo nodded sharply. "He'll see you then."

* * *

Upon getting back to the Varia Squalo glanced at the 'In' and 'Out' boards as he moved his name from the latter to the former, pausing as he noticed something unexpected.

Boss had taken Florrie out today, and usually that meant he was out until sundown at the earliest; sometimes he didn't get back until eight or later. But it was barely half-past four and here Boss was on the 'In' board. Had something come up?

The Rain Officer collared a passing assassin. "Voi, where's Boss?"

"In the regular handgun range, Captain sir!"

Squalo let the man run off, frowning thoughtfully as he turned towards the basement stairs; Boss didn't use that range often. Generally he used the Flame-shielded range, as he could use his guns to their full capacity there. Which he did every so often, both as training and to blow off steam. The Sky using the regular range implied he was focusing on marksmanship, which he generally only did in the immediate aftermath of an injury or when he was gnawing over a problem.

A problem he couldn't take to his workshop for some reason; that implied it was a _distracting_ problem rather than an irritating one, since Boss had retreated to the mindless discipline of target shooting to chew it over rather than channel his mood into craftsmanship as the thinking happened in the background.

More recently Boss had taken to exorcising his distracting problems with Florrie, which suggested this was something he couldn't take to her and hash out there. For instance if the problem was something to do with the woman herself.

Like Boss finally noticing how serious he was about her. That would definitely do it. Had only taken him, what, four months? Yeah, four months since Bester had taken a shine to her. About time Boss caught up.

Jogging down the stairs, Squalo spared himself a moment to wonder why on earth he was meddling; oh yes, he didn't want Boss to fuck this up. Not when he'd been doing so well of late.

Also, it had taken him _four months_ to notice? After all the introspection and clearing out of mental baggage he'd been doing overr the past half-year? Definitely something to tease the Sky about later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Pick up the pieces (and take stock)**

Getting into the range was not hard; Squalo was a Varia Officer and locks were little more than a vague request for privacy. The Rain Officer then closed the door behind him, muffled his ears with Flames to protect his hearing and wandered along the walkway to where Boss was meticulously putting holes in a paper target twenty-five metres away. Lethal areas only and barely any spread in the shots, so Boss was not as calm as he appeared; merely focused.

Squalo leaned against the wall behind Boss, folded his arms and settled in to wait.

He let his Sky work his way through another two magazines –bullets flying through the existing holes in the targets– before speaking up:

"Keep in mind you somehow found the only Cloud I've ever seen more cuddly than Skull, Boss." Clouds were notoriously aloof and defensive of their personal space. Not that Florrie wasn't –her body language was explicit there– but she also actively pursued physical contact in a way Clouds generally didn't. The Cloud Arcobaleno was pretty atypical already, but Boss's new friend took casual affection several steps further. Squalo wasn't sure on her reasoning for such behaviour, but Clouds based a lot of what they did on their beliefs and education, so Squalo knew better than to assume it was related to gender or socialisation.

Boss set his X-guns down with a deliberate thunk and turned just far enough to glare at him sideways. "Anything else you'd like to add, trash?" The Sky asked, voice soft and dangerous.

Squalo ignored the threatening undercurrent. "Yeah; you going to keep dithering or get out there and face the music?" Boss wasn't getting anything out of shooting holes in things; he was just tying himself up in knots. Emotional over-thinking knots at that, which was the sort of twisted reasoning that screamed 'puberty.'

His Sky spun around and threw a punch; the Rain Officer side-stepped the blow then got grabbed and twisted around so his face was being mashed into the wall. "Calling me a coward, trash?"

"Emotional shit is fucking terrible, voi," Squalo complained, keeping his body relaxed and loose despite the uncomfortable angle, "and being seventeen makes it all worse. Seventeen was a shitty year; only worse one was sixteen. Not that fifteen was exactly sunshine and roses either; turning eighteen was a damned relief." Puberty was hell. He didn't envy Mammon having to go through it again, double speed or not. Probably be all the worse and more intense for the Mist Officer, really.

"Luss mentioned you blush pretty," his asshole Sky mused, releasing him and stepping away. Squalo turned around and glared at up at him.

"Vooi! It wasn't _that_ funny!"

"Adorable was the word he used, _kasusame_."

"VOI!" Okay so the unpleasantly self-destructive undercurrent had gone now but Boss being a shitty tease was not exactly an improvement!

"Might ask Mammon if there are photos." Why the–!

"Shitty Boss don't you DARE!"

The bright, sharp grin he got for his pains would have been reassuring if it didn't also promise utter mortification. "Don't tell me what to do, trash," his Sky drawled casually, turning back to his guns and unloading the mundane cartridges so he could reload them with Flame bullets before heading out of the range.

Well his Sky wasn't tearing himself down anymore, which was something, but Squalo just _knew_ he was going to be made to suffer for calling Boss out on his shit.

He would have to ask Mammon if there _were_ in fact any photos, and how much it would cost him for the miser to hide them from Boss. Great, just what he wanted to do with his afternoon; his bank account would be suffering after this.

* * *

Florrie was cooking when Xanxus arrived back at the farmstead; even before she opened the door he could smell bitter oranges. When she did open the door he was greeted by the sight of his friend in tracksuit trousers, a loose pyjama shirt with a fleecy jacket half-zipped over the top, flats on her feet and her hair hanging down her back in a braid. He knew without having to look that she'd be wearing fuzzy socks to keep her ankles warm; that was just how she was.

"Hi Xanxus! Was there not as much work as you expected?"

Oh yes, his excuse earlier. "Different to what I was expecting," Xanxus corrected, stepping inside and glancing over at the stove top, where a massive pan was simmering away, full of juice and finely sliced orange peel, and an apron was half-folded on the countertop nearby. "How much longer will that take?"

Florrie tilted her head sideways, giving him a measuring look. "I haven't added the sugar yet so I can take it off the heat now if need be."

"Please?" The sooner he said all the things he needed to say the less likely he was to chicken out or do something Dumb. "I'd like to talk."

"Okay." Florrie walked over to the stove and turned off the heat, lifting a massive matching lid off the counter and covering the pan. "Here or in the sitting room?"

"Sitting room." There was more space to pace and the seats were comfier.

* * *

The first thing Xanxus did once they were both in the sitting room was call Bester out of his ring, right in front of her so there was no misunderstanding where the liger had come from.

"It's science, I swear," he said quickly as his friend's eyes went wide and shocked, "I could write you the equations and draw the circuitry, there's a whole _field_ and a ton of peer-reviewed research paperwork but it's not public because governments getting hold of it would start a dozen wars." Well that had to be part of the reason anyway; Xanxus wasn't sure why the Vindice would enforce secrecy the way they did otherwise. There were probably all kinds of reasons that could be created to explain or justify the Vindice's enforced secrecy, but what it _was_ boiled down to control through fear. And it worked. Knowing the Vindice were undead former Arcobaleno did not exactly make them any less terrifying.

"Secret society?" Florrie asked faintly, automatically scratching Bester behind the ears when the liger nuzzled her hand.

"Mafia," Xanxus admitted apologetically. "Entire Underworld vaguely knows actually; sorry."

"I mean, I guessed what you did was _some_ flavour of dubious," she replied, rubbing her jaw with her free hand, "what with the odd hours and the general everything, especially the contract I had to sign before even getting to _look_ at the accounts, but I was _not_ expecting proof of the equivalence of mass and energy in my sitting room." She glanced down at Bester. "Nor the proof that sentience can be preserved in the absence of a physical shell, to be honest." She looked up at him again. "Why are you telling me?"

Xanxus called on his own Flames and let them dance over his hand for a few seconds. "This is why the old fart bothered to adopt me at all," he said flatly. "We call then Flames; people have been using them for centuries, but they're rare and orange is the rarest colour. They usually run in families though; there's a genetic component but it's nurture as much as nature, so using them makes it more likely your kids will too. So when I developed these, my Ma decided that meant the old fart was my father, because everybody knew this was the type he had –we call it Sky– and when he saw me he told me I was his bastard. But he was lying, I wasn't, he just wanted to use me." He took a quick breath; Florrie was staring at him with a look on her face caught between shock and alarm, but she was _listening_ and that was already more than he'd expected, all things considered.

"I expected to inherit the Family because it gets handed down from Sky to Sky," he barrelled on, "and then when I was fifteen I found out I couldn't, because Sky or not I wasn't _actually_ his son. It… I snapped." He didn't want to go into all the sordid details there, she'd be horrified. "I attacked him and he used his Flames to freeze me somehow and the next thing I knew it was _eight years later_." He wasn't looking at Florrie anymore because this sounded like a fucking science fiction plot and he didn't want to see her disbelief. "Grandma was dead, everybody was way older and I wasn't and the old fart only defrosted me at _all_ because he finally had a _use_ for me. And I let him use me and he humiliated me then acted like that was the end of it. Like _I_ was the one who needed to grovel and earn his forgiveness, when _he_ was the one to fucking _lie_ to me my entire life and then act like it didn't _matter_ that I wasn't who I thought I was! That the whole thing was _my_ fault for overreacting!"

Florrie looked utterly stunned by his outburst. Not judging him yet, but she'd get there.

"Look, I'll show you." He sat down just long enough to yank off his boots and socks, tossed his jacket over the back of the chair, jerked his shirt off over his head and ripped the Mist-trick hiding his scars to shreds as he shoved his trousers and underwear down and stepped out of them. "See?"

He knew how gut-churningly vile he looked with his scars showing, mottled red spiking under more than half his skin; it was why he hid them. He hated being stared at like something in a circus freak show and hated how pathetic and helpless seeing them in the mirror made him feel. But if this was the only way to get Florrie to believe him then he would show her what a fucking mess he really was, even if it made her pity him.

That didn't mean he was going to watch her stare though.

"Xanxus?"

He heard her step closer but kept his gaze firmly on the far corner of the ceiling, over a metre above her head.

"Xanxus, are the red ones frostbite scars?" She'd switched to English, probably because she didn't know the Italian word for 'frostbite.'

"Yes." Still not looking down.

"Do they ache?"

Xanxus swallowed hard, the lump in his throat almost choking him. "Sometimes." His eye in particular ached every time the weather changed, as well as when exposed to sudden bright light.

"There is nothing you could _possibly_ have done to deserve this," his friend said levelly, making him finally look down at her in shock. She had her head tilted up, focusing completely on his face. "I don't care what you broke or who you killed; he _tortured_ you. He concealed your identity from you and took advantage of you, then when you realised and confronted him he physically tortured you, did his utmost to destroy you both spiritually _and_ emotionally through prolonged isolation and clearly wanted you to be completely dependent on him for validation and mental stability afterwards." She huffed sharply, teeth bared. "Nothing you have ever done or could do would _ever_ justify that kind of treatment and now I want to commit murder."

That was… not the response he'd expected.

"Xanxus?" She moved even closer but still didn't touch him. "I'm not going to ask if you're okay when you clearly aren't, but please tell me what I can do to help."

"I know they're ugly" –that I'm ugly– "that's why I hide them."

Florrie made an angry sound in her throat. "They are _not_ ugly and you aren't either. The disgusting waste of skin that did this to you is the ugly one and I am in awe of how strong you are."

"You're not looking at them." She never made this much sustained eye-contact normally.

His friend sagged. "Xanxus I am shocked that you were hiding them, horrified that you experienced and are _still_ going through so much pain and I desperately want to hug you, but I also don't want to overstep because you just confessed you're in organised crime then stripped naked in front of me and I have no idea what to _do_ because this has never happened before."

He felt his lips twitch; that was fair. It wasn't like he'd planned it going like this either.

"I also have the tiny yet persistently inappropriate voice that bills itself as scientific curiosity urging me to touch you all over and see how different the scarring feels to the rest of your skin and whether it's sensitive to touch, so give me a clue here as to what you'd prefer I _actually_ do, please?"

Xanxus burst out laughing; she was being completely honest and that made the sheepish admission even better. The way she went visibly pink but looked transparently relieved by his abrupt outburst of hilarity made him feel like the ground under his feet wasn't as unsteady as he'd thought.

"Love you," he told her, slumping forwards to rest his forehead against hers, still chuckling quietly. "Hug me."

She did so, ducking her head under his chin and rising up on tiptoe to reach up over his shoulder as her other arm wrapped around his back and squeezed his ribs comfortingly, leaning closer into him so he could feel her heartbeat through her shirt.

Bester circled around behind his legs, the thick fur brushing against his skin, and Xanxus let a hand drop down to pet the liger's head, his other arm wrapping around his friend's back. This didn't feel quite real yet; it had gone too well to be real.

"So, was the little voice in your head wanting you to touch me anywhere _specific_?" he asked teasingly, making the innuendo as explicit as possible.

Florrie smacked him lightly and pushed herself away from his chest, glaring up at his face. "Xanxus!"

"I could lie on the couch for better access if you wanted," he went on, feeling bright and giddy at how well this had gone so far. "Or on your bed. For science, obviously."

Her face flushed bright pink and she hit him again. "Xanxus you utter _arse_ stop that!"

He bent down and nuzzled her ear. "But what if I _want_ you to? Education is important."

Florrie went pinker, pulling back slightly. "Xanxus you know very well I've barely dated; you're the first man I've ever seen naked now please stop teasing me."

Xanxus didn't want to make her too uncomfortable so he reined himself in, letting go of her and taking a step backwards for good measure. "Fine. Offer stands, though." He was maybe a little curious himself; he generally avoided even _looking_ at the scars and the particular Mist-trick he used to cover them was a kind of Denial, encouraging his body to forget they existed at all, so he didn't actually know how sensitive they were to touch. Just how much they ached when a storm blew in.

"Aren't you going to get dressed again?"

He smirked. "Wasn't planning to."

"But it's January and you're naked!" It was cute how she waved her arms when she was flustered and the persistent pinkness painted across the bridge of her nose was very good for his ego.

"Not that cold."

Florrie pressed her hands over her eyes and made a strangled noise in her throat; Xanxus chuckled and moved around so he could stand beside her and bend down to murmur in her ear:

"You don't even care about sex and you _still_ can't look at me without blushing."

"Stop it," his friend mumbled despairingly.

"You're the only woman to have seen me with all the scars showing and I'm enjoying your reaction." Only person to have seen him, period; what little others had seen had been with clothing hiding half of them.

"You're gorgeous and you know it, now _please_ get dressed again?"

Xanxus frowned. "Despite the scars?"

Florrie lowered her hands and peeked at him sideways. "Most of the scarring is fairly subtle and your muscle definition is amazing. Squalo may look like a catwalk model but _you're_ the one with the physique people would put on fifty-foot billboards to sell underwear. The only way you could have people stop noticing you won the genetic lottery would be by peeling all your skin _off_."

The idea of himself as an underwear model made him glare at her; that was _not_ something he was comfortable picturing. "I'm not for sale."

"I know that but you're still _naked_ in my _sitting room_ , Xanxus."

Oh fine. "For you then." He bent down to kiss her cheek then headed back to his discarded clothing.

"Thank you," she told him gratefully. "Since the marmalade's off the heat do you want a hot drink?"

"Hot chocolate," Xanxus decided, pulling up his trousers and adjusting his underwear.

"I'll go heat up some milk then."

Xanxus watched her turn and dart out of the room as he buttoned up his trousers, glanced down at his other clothing and reached into his boots for his socks; as he'd said before, it wasn't that cold. Well, not with Flames to cheat with anyway. That he wanted to see how Florrie reacted to his various scars when she wasn't reacting to his nudity was also a factor; he knew it was Dumb, like he was prodding a sore tooth so as to find out when and how the pain would hit, but not knowing was worse.

He should put Bester back in his ring; adding the liger to this discussion wouldn't really help and he was bound to get into her cooking if left to his own devices. The liger had already demonstrated a habit of it.

* * *

"Can you tell me anything else about the Flame thing?"

Xanxus raised an eyebrow, pulling out a chair so he could face Florrie where she was standing at the stove without the table being in the way. "Not what I do for a living?"

"I'm not ready to ask that yet," his friend admitted bluntly, glancing at him for the usual amount of time without her eyes lingering on his scars for more than an additional half-second, "but I'd like to hear about the genetically heritable exotic energy manifestation, please."

Her honesty was one of the things he liked best about his friend. She was completely civilian, he'd just dumped three different bombshells on her and rather than throwing a fit and kicking him out or pretending everything was okay, she was recognising her limits and carefully working within them. Xanxus had no illusions that there'd be multiple difficult conversations later down the line on the subject of organised crime, but for now he was being allowed to stick to easier things.

Well, relatively easier things; Flames had their own complications, but would let him lead into why he was telling her all this at all.

"Seven types; six pure and one composite. Sky –orange– is the composite; the rest are Storm which is red, Sun which is yellow, Lightning which is green, Rain which is blue, Mist which is indigo and Cloud which is violet."

"I'd have expected the composite to be white, not orange."

"White is all the light wavelengths simultaneously; in Sky Flames the wavelengths are blended into one."

"Even so, I'd still have expected the composite to fall closer to the middle of the visual spectrum."

"Mathematically yellowish green's in the middle of the light spectrum," Xanxus agreed, "but there's more to Flames than just light and that affects things too." It _was_ a bit odd how Sky was off-side of centre with five of the other Flames having shorter wavelengths, but that was just how it was. There was science studying how that worked, but it was rather complicated and not really important in the long run.

"Okay, so there's a reason for it and it makes sense despite it seeming otherwise."

Xanxus hummed agreement then watched as Florrie mixed up hot chocolate for both of them in the pan, let it sit on the hob a little longer, poured it, set the mugs down on the table then joined him sitting down. She was still glancing at him now and then as usual, but for slightly longer and slightly more frequently.

"If you're going to stare, just stare." All the back-and-forth was making him feel even more self-conscious.

"I'm not staring!"

He raised a sceptical eyebrow; his friend glared at him.

"Look, I thought I knew what you looked like and it turns out I don't, okay? So I'm adjusting to the picture in my head of you not being the person in my kitchen and it's awkward and I keep being surprised."

That was not a perspective Xanxus had considered. Nonetheless; "my point stands."

Florrie sighed, but let her eyes wander freely over his face and chest rather than looking down at her drink every so often. "I know you implied you've had these for a while, but not having seen them before makes me feel like they're new and I really _do_ want to go commit murder over them." She paused. "Or at least shout at him in public and make a really embarrassing scene that completely ruins his public image."

It was true that even after eighteen months they had barely faded at all, which was probably related to Xanxus using Denial to hide them; he'd never seen any long-term studies on the effects of Denying scarring before so he wasn't sure. He might have to go talk to Luss this evening or tomorrow morning about it, to see if he was actually slowing his own recovery. Hopefully he wasn't; he'd feel Dumb if that was what had happened.

And it made him feel warm that her immediate response to seeing his scars was 'murder.' 'I shall kill it with _fire_ ' being the textbook Cloud response to having something or someone claimed as Territory getting injured was definitely a factor there.

"The second would hurt more," he volunteered; Florrie probably didn't have what it took to kill people in cold blood –which was not a flaw when you considered the options available to humanity there– but public outcry and shaming would hit the old fart in his self-image and involve more protracted suffering.

"Let me know if you ever want me to and I will be right there," his friend told him earnestly, meeting his eyes for a full five seconds.

"Thanks." For offering and for making it his decision; he hated people doing things 'for his own good.' Now back to the subject at hand:

"Flames have different properties –beyond the obvious incineration– so people who can wield them generally focus on those properties rather than bothering with just burning shit, which results in Flames generally _not_ burning shit because your focus determines your reality." Yes it was a Star Wars quote –from the new and rather clunky movies that had been made while he was on ice– but it was still true. He didn't bother giving her the full run-down; she didn't need it right now and would probably forget bits anyway. "Property of Sky Flames is considered to be Harmony, which is why we're generally expected to lead."

"That doesn't follow though," Florrie objected.

"Why not?"

"A leader's not going to have everybody agree with him; there's always somebody who's going to argue. A group where everybody is expected to agree with the leader in everything is a cult. I mean, if we're going the family route use the stereotypical medieval noble household as the model: the lord makes the decisions, goes to war and spends his time out there protecting his interests on the larger stage, but the person actually promoting harmony and togetherness _within_ the household is his wife. Who writes letters to her relatives and neighbours, makes sure the finances are in order, deals with all the little problems as they come up and defends the castle in a pinch, but is generally relegated to a subordinate position and making sure that her lord husband has all resources he needs to go out and achieve whatever his primary goal is."

"You think harmony sounds feminine."

"I didn't say that! I just think it just sounds more like a second-in-command thing than a leader thing; the leader has to lead after all, so his focus has to be more on his actual plan, making sure everybody's facing in the right direction and moving things along rather than dealing with the little details and smoothing out difficulties and securing loyalties with something beyond charisma, rhetoric and style. I mean, some people are geniuses and can do both, but generally speaking those are two different jobs."

Xanxus pondered the new perspective. It was true that a lot of Skies _weren't_ leaders –see Chew Toy as Exhibit A– and that a lot of women in the mafia and indeed the Vongola bloodline didn't get tested for Flames at all because they didn't want to learn to fight with them. What Mammon had mentioned of Luce implied she was a more submissive kind of Sky too, which _could_ get put down as a woman-thing but would be wrong, because Grandma had been a woman yet had very _definitely_ been a driven and passionate leader as well.

Was the old fart really _leading_ the Family anywhere or was he just maintaining the status quo? Something to think about…

"Plausible, but what people believe is also important," he said eventually. "In this case that in the mafia, people believe that Skies are born leaders based in part on them having control over Harmony. So Skies are shunted into leadership positions."

Florrie nodded and sipped her hot chocolate, watching him attentively.

"Part of Harmony is forming Flame-bonds. Everybody forms bonds –they're a normal part of relationships regardless of having Flames, Active or not– but Flame-bonds are more intense and much harder to break. Traditionally, a Sky is expected to form what's called a Guardian bond with six people who each have a different one of the other Flame-types. Minor bonds are things like blood-bonds between relatives which you're born with, proximity bonds between colleagues and acquaintances, respect bonds between students and a teacher or mentor or between a leader and their followers and interpersonal bonds which come about through innate compatibility. Like when you meet somebody and just click." Xanxus paused to sip his own hot chocolate.

"Guardian bonds are composite bonds, so there has to be natural compatibility, mutual respect and proximity for them to happen, as well as Flames. Sometimes they happen quickly, sometimes they take months or years and sometimes they don't happen at all, but Skies are expected to have an inner circle of people they share these bonds with, or at least people they'd like to share those bonds with." He took a fortifying breath. "You have Flame potential and I just noticed I'm forming a bond with you. It's not a Guardian bond yet, but it could get there soon and I want it to be a conscious choice."

" _My_ choice," Florrie specified softly.

"Yes." Xanxus plunged on. "I'm not expecting you to do anything or change anything if it does happen; all it means is both of us will want to been around the other, or at least see the other regularly, and that we will care about each-other a lot. And that some other people with Flames will be able to see that we belong to each-other. You don't have to stay here or give up university or join the mafia or anything like that, I _promise_ and if anybody tries to pressure you into doing something like that I'll deal with them." He took a breath. "My other Guardians work with me, but that's because that's what they want to do and they were all part of the Underworld before meeting me." Even Bel counted there, since he'd run away from home and had been killing people.

"So we'd be really committed close friends," Florrie said slowly, fingertips tapping on her mug.

"It's, you know with most relationships there's a point when you can decide it isn't worth it anymore, break it off and walk away," Xanxus tried; she hadn't quite grasped it yet. "With Flame bonds that point doesn't really exist, or if it does it's really, really close to the point of murder-suicide. It's very much a lifelong thing."

"Like marriage?"

"Like marriage is supposed to be, yes." In practice marriage often wasn't, because people were frequently trash.

"But not sexual."

"Not in the slightest," Xanxus assured her instantly. "I mean some Skies do end up having sex with one or more of their Guardians, but that's due to sexual attraction and wanting to, not the bond itself pushing them. In the Underworld most prominent Skies and Guardians are male and straight –or at least assuming or pretending that they're straight– so sex doesn't even come into the picture. That's what wives are for." Xanxus was _very_ unusual in having a flamboyantly queer Guardian; the mafia was irritatingly backward and homophobic as a general rule.

"So you essentially want to be my adoptive big brother, with all the duties and privileges that implies," Florrie tried.

"That's… not a bad comparison," Xanxus conceded. "I'm expected to meddle in your life a bit and help look after you, but at the same time you're free to tell me where to shove it if–" _when really, let's be honest_ "–I get too overbearing and I can't _make_ you do anything. But I care and you care, so we listen to each-other and try to compromise most of the time." Ideally. "And I can show up at your house without warning without you being expected to do anything special and vice versa." She wasn't going to be working for him so there was less expectation of allegiance and obedience; not that Clouds were ever truly _expected_ to be obedient. Most wouldn't so much as give you the time of day unless they already respected you a little.

"Yes."

Xanxus felt the bond take and gaped at her. She just!?

"You're one of my best friends –certainly my only male friend– and I don't want to lose you," Florrie continued, utterly oblivious to what she'd just done, "and you're not asking me for more than I'm okay with giving or more than you're offering in return. So yes."

Xanxus was still staring. God, he had a Cloud. He had _Florrie_ as his Cloud. Florrie was _his_ Cloud.

This wasn't –he'd not– Clouds!

"Xanxus?"

"You said that and it just–" He waved a hand vaguely. They'd really been that close?!

She frowned. "I don't feel any different."

"It creeps up on you." Good God did it creep up on you. Less so in Latents –Active Flames made Guardian bonds _much_ more intense– but it still happened.

"If you say so." She looked dubious, but Xanxus could forgive that; she'd pick up on it soon enough, since she was bound to start becoming more aware of his presence even when she couldn't see him. "I'm going back to my marmalade; I need to have it at least ready to add sugar to before I go to bed."

Xanxus got to his feet and paused. "Can I stay a bit longer?"

She smiled. "Stay as long as you like."

Xanxus found himself wondering whether, if he was still here when she decided to _go_ to bed, she'd absently invite him to join her. Because perceived appropriate physical boundaries were one of the things Guardian bonds messed with and Florrie was rather tactile as it was. He'd save that experiment for another time; he should probably ask Luss's opinion on his scars and the Sun wouldn't be impressed if he delayed something that important.

Still, for now he could sit back down and watch _his_ Cloud going about her daily life around him without the vague, nagging sense that he was intruding on her quiet civilian life. Because now he _belonged_. Scars and all.

* * *

Xanxus had decided to put off asking Luss's opinion until after he'd researched frostbite scarring and its treatment for himself; there was no point bothering the Sun when he could find the information independently. Frostbite wasn't a common Varia injury –having Flames made it vanishingly unlikely that any Quality assassin would ever suffer from cold-related afflictions– but he knew that after his release from the ice the okama would have gone digging for all the information that could be found, in case of complications.

All that research would be in the Varia's medical library, available for everybody to access. All Xanxus had to do was walk in, find it, scan what he'd borrowed into the system so that if anybody else wanted it while he had it they'd know where it had gone and then keep it for as long as he liked.

Hearing Florrie's take on Harmony had given him a few vague ideas about the possibility of using his own Flames on his scars –smoothing out difficulties– the deeper ones in particular. There wasn't anything he could do to help Luss and Mammon with Squalo's heart conversion, but if his ideas were plausible and workable then he might be able to mitigate his Rain's surgical scarring from the transplant afterwards. He might also be able to reduce the ache in his own reattached arm when the weather changed, which would be very nice if he could get it.

Florrie being his Cloud didn't really change anything; she was still civvie, he was still Varia Boss and they were doing entirely different things with their lives. But he felt better about the fact she was inevitably going to go home come summer; he could visit her any time he wanted and she would welcome it. He wouldn't be intruding.

The impending discussion on what it was he did for a living _exactly_ still wasn't going to be fun, but Xanxus could live with that argument. She wouldn't cut him out of her life now and anything short of that he could work with.

* * *

Having his heart treated was almost dull; Squalo had to strip out of his shirt and lie on Luss's operating table while Mammon knelt on top of him wearing child-size scrubs, muttering to themselves and poking him with Mist Flames for half an hour, then the Sun Officer came in and joined the miser for a further twenty minutes of prodding. Then he was told to get dressed again, informed that he should avoid using Flames at all for the next six hours and shooed out of Medical.

"Minimal exertion, Squ-chan!" Luss called after him as he walked out the door; Squalo sighed, rolled his eyes and headed off towards his office rather than hitting one of the training rooms. 'Minimal exertion' meant no sending his heart rate up, which rather limited his options. He could probably still do paperwork, but he didn't really fancy that; paperwork was only palatable when you took breaks to work off the annoyance and stress, which he couldn't do today.

Walking into his office, Squalo paused at the sight of Boss perched on his desk, reading one of Luss's medical journals. "Voi, why're you in here?"

Boss did not look up from his reading. "Verdict?"

Oh, so Boss wanted to know how the heart thing had gone. "It was boring, voi," the Rain Officer drawled, "and I'm banned from exercise and using Flames for the rest of the day."

Boss slid off the desk, closing the journal and rolling it up so it fitted into a pocket. "Visit with me," he invited.

Go with Boss to see his civvie friend? His civvie friend who was now a fellow Guardian; Squalo had noticed the change in his Sky yesterday morning but hadn't commented, even though that happening had been proof he'd been right and Boss had been stressing for no reason. "Sure."

* * *

The farmstead looked quiet but Squalo could smell citrus and there was steam drifting out of the open kitchen window; Boss parked the bike, hopped off and went and knocked on the glass.

"Hi Xanxus! Come in!" drifted out, the tone somewhat distracted. Whatever Boss had seen through the window prompted him to flick the catches and open it further, then climb inside without bothering with the front door just around the corner of the building. Sighing, Squalo did likewise; there'd been no loud outcry so clearly Florrie didn't care.

The kitchen was warm despite the open window; there were empty jam jars lined up on the worktops in neat rows and more jam jars on the table, which Florrie was carefully ladling some kind of orange-based preserve into from a massive pan, using a makeshift funnel cut from a cereal packet. Probably marmalade, seeing as she was English. There were more oranges crammed into a section of the worktop not swamped by jars, along with a lemon squeezer, chopping board and one of the knives he'd given her for Christmas.

Boss rotated some of the filled jars with empty ones, flicked his fingers in a way that said those jars were hot and he'd not been expecting it and glanced around the kitchen. "Lids?"

"Waxed circles first; smooth side down," Florrie said briskly, her entire focus on the work in front of her. "They're on the end; lids are on the cooker top."

Boss found the little plastic packet of paper discs, fished a few out and dropped them neatly into the tops of the filled jars. Squalo glanced at the cooker top over to his right, saw the lids –in a plastic box– and passed them over to his Sky, who accepted them without comment and started screwing them down on the jars.

"There's a damp cloth by the sink to get any sticky off," Florrie added, prompting Boss to pause and retrieve the promised item. Squalo moved around out of the way to where one of the kitchen chairs had been pushed back against the wall, sat down and watched his Sky be domestic with his new Cloud. It was weird, but in a good way; Florrie clearly hadn't expected the help, but she wasn't trying to tell Boss what to do either, trusting him to pick up on what was needed as she got on with her own task.

Once all the jars were filled –or half-filled in the case of the last one– Florrie moved to the sink to wash up, catching the sticky cloth Boss tossed her way once he'd put the last jar lid on and rinsing it off under the hot tap. "Thanks for helping," She said once the pan and associated utensils were washed and Boss had grabbed a tea towel to help her dry up.

"Welcome," Boss said easily. "What next?"

"I've got another batch of oranges to squeeze and finely slice," Florrie told him with a smile before glancing over Squalo's way. "Hi there, sorry, would you like a drink or something? I've got a ton of fruit to process today so I'm not really up for being social."

"Shark's on medical restrictions," Boss said before Squalo could answer; "brought him along as eye-candy."

"Vooi!" Squalo protested as the woman coughed into her sleeve, probably to suppress laughter. "I can still chop fruit!" There was something soothing about using knives, even in the kitchen; he didn't usually do preserving –hadn't ever in fact– but slicing was slicing no matter what you were cutting up. It wasn't meat, so he wouldn't have to worry about his prosthetic either. Wearing gloves all the time helped cut down the amount of time spent cleaning it, but meat was a breeding ground for bacteria in a way that fruit wasn't, so having bits of fruit trapped in the works might tarnish the metal but it wouldn't rot and be a health hazard like blood would.

Florrie closed the window and smiled at him. "I've been using my Christmas knives and they're amazingly sharp; thanks again for them. There're plenty of oranges and I have another board, so you can both chop if you really want to. First lot is set up at the counter; I need to wash and weigh out another one to make a batch." She sighed. "I could fit more in the pan, but the oven isn't big enough for all the jam jars."

"Explain?" Boss asked.

"The jars need to be sterilised before I put the jam in," Florrie replied obligingly as she opened the oven and moved the jars on the counter inside it, laying them on thick paper covering the metal shelves. "So I put them in the oven and turn it up to one hundred and fifty, then once it's up to temperature I turn it down to one hundred." She closed the door and turned the oven off. "But I don't need to do that until the fruit's softened and I'm adding the sugar, which is a few hours away yet. The pan I'm borrowing is big enough for quadruple batches, but the oven won't hold that many jars so I'm stuck at doubles."

Squalo saw the look on his Sky's face and realised what was coming.

"Can make the oven bigger on the inside."

"With Flames?" Florrie specified curiously. "TARDIS oven?"

Boss nodded, grinning at the reference.

"Shelves, paper and everything?"

Another nod.

She sighed. "Well, why not?"

Boss kissed the top of her head and wandered over to the appliance in question as Florrie moved the chopping board and oranges over to the near end of the worktop. Squalo quickly washed his hands and walked over, picking up the knife and getting started on chopping the fruit in half so they could be juiced. "Voi, are there meant to be blood oranges mixed in here?"

"Yes, I thought red marmalade could be fun," Florrie said amiably, rummaging in a cupboard. "That's why the lemons are there too, for extra pectin." She laid out a metal bowl with a muslin bag inside it and hefted the massive pan onto the counter beside him. "Juice and loose pith into the bag in the bowl, finely sliced peel in the pan; any questions, ask."

Squalo nodded and started squeezing oranges; it wasn't paperwork, he got to cut things and it was both semi-mindless and productive. Not a bad way to spend the day really, especially when there were no idiots to corral and plenty of quiet to think in.

Behind him the tap was turned on; probably Florrie washing more fruit.

"Done." Boss stood up in Squalo's peripheral vision and walked out of sight, probably over to the sink.

"Remember what I told you back in July about pretending?"

Squalo pretended he wasn't listening.

"That I didn't have to," Boss replied quietly; "that you wouldn't judge."

"So why the face?"

Face? Squalo juiced another orange half, noticed the squeezer was looking full and tipped its contents into the muslin bag.

"If you're genuinely uncomfortable that's one thing, but if it's for my sake please don't; I'd rather see the real you."

Boss sighed quietly and there was a flicker of Mist. "Habit," he admitted softly, voice hoarse.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of Xanxus," Florrie said quietly, a dangerous edge lurking in the depths of her meaning like a crocodile in a river. "Can you fish out the scales, please?"

As Boss wandered through Squalo's peripheral vision again the Rain Officer had to take a moment to tip more peel into the pan to hide the fact he'd almost fumbled his knife; his Sky had his frostbite scars showing.

That _did not happen_.

Not that Boss habitually hiding those scars to the point that nobody even knew what they looked like anymore was a _good_ thing, but Squalo had _not_ expected this development.

Well, Boss getting more comfortable in his skin was probably the point of all that psychology reading his Sky had been doing, so this was a good sign. Florrie very clearly didn't mind seeing them and was poking at Boss to make sure he knew that.

Of course it wasn't just her seeing them; Squalo was here too. But Boss had apparently decided he was fine with that. Possibly because this wasn't the Varia? Florrie's farm didn't even count as Underworld, so maybe Boss classified this as private off-duty space. In which case things like professional distance and respect for ranks might possibly be somewhat relaxed. Maybe. If Squalo was careful and didn't push too far.

Boss reappeared on the far side of the pan, setting down another armful of oranges, grabbing a board and the other knife out of a drawer and stealing the squeezer. Squalo had finished with it anyway –he'd done all the juicing first– so he moved the bowl with the muslin bag in across to the far side of the pan as well.

"I'm getting more oranges," Florrie announced, taking off her apron and heading out of the front door. Possibly to the barn? Squalo had no idea where she might be storing fruit that wasn't in the house. Then she walked past the windows and he realised she was headed towards the staircase running up the outside wall to the upper storey of the house; oh, so it was all up there then.

Standing next to Boss in a quiet farm kitchen, both of them silently chopping oranges for marmalade, was not something Squalo ever expected to find himself doing. It was comfortable in a way the Varia never was and pleasantly slow besides; the Varia rarely managed to be slow, even at the height of summer when there weren't any missions.

Florrie rattled down the outside stairs again, carrying a crate of oranges, and didn't bother locking the front door after letting herself back in. Tipping the last of the chopped peel into the pan, Squalo set the knife aside and turned around.

"How many more oranges do you need?"

"Erm, two point six kilos; I'm making it up to a round five kilos, so I don't have to weigh the sugar."

Squalo nodded, eyeing the mixed fruit. "Proportions?"

"Four blood oranges per batch, so eight; make up the rest of the weight with Seville oranges, plus two lemons per batch as extra. Better to have it weighing slightly over than under."

Squalo nodded, grabbed the scales and started shuffling the fruit around; each individual orange was slightly different, so finding the right combination to get as close as possible to the target weight was a fun puzzle. Florrie left him to it and went to grab a measuring jug, filling it up with cold water out the tap –she had a well Squalo remembered; piped water around here was pretty dubious but well water would be safe to drink– and tipped it into the pan on top of the sliced peel.

Squalo wasn't sure what they'd end up doing once all the oranges were chopped and they were simmering on the stove, but for now this was good. He could take the moments as they came.

* * *

The day of cooking with Squalo had been fun, but the shark being there meant Florrie hadn't asked any mafia-related questions. Xanxus wasn't sure if she was ready to ask those questions yet, but that she hadn't even tried reminded him that despite being his Cloud now, she didn't actually know any of her fellow bonded at all. And she wasn't mafia, so she wouldn't assume that them all belonging to the same Sky gave her the leeway to assume familiarity and camaraderie. She wasn't even Active, so couldn't feel the kinship she shared with his other Guardians through him either.

Had he even told her shark was his Guardian too? No, he hadn't; damn. Better rectify that next time; Mammon and Bel too, and what the deal was with Luss.

Bel. Xanxus knew that his Storm Officer was well aware of Florrie's existence and that the Sky had been visiting her regularly for over half a year now, but the brat prince hadn't once indicated he was even curious about her. Now she was a Guardian –which Belphegor would have noticed since his Flame-sense was exceptional– but he still hadn't asked. Which could be for any of a number of reasons –such as her not being Varia– but it was past time for a proper talk to clear the air and find out what was going on inside Prince the Ripper's head.

He needed to address the rest of the Varia too; Florrie being his Guardian meant he had to redefine the parameters of interaction beyond the basic 'do not visit' Luss had laid out last summer, since she was no longer a transient outsider but a lifelong Family member.

Xanxus groaned quietly; he'd have to talk to Florrie about that –which couldn't happen until he'd told her what he and the rest of the Varia did for a living– and see what she was comfortable with. Her being a Cloud did mean that the Varia would mostly make an effort to not intrude on her space –if only so Xanxus didn't kill them for upsetting her– but that wasn't saying much. Might have to sort out an extra Box Weapon, so he could leave Bester with her sometimes… a regular tiger maybe? It'd be nice to distance himself from the lion theme that associated him with Chew Toy and the External Advisor; the latter _still_ got called 'the young lion of the Vongola' and Xanxus really was not a fan.

Bel first, then telling Luss, Mammon and the shark that he was okay with them visiting her when he was away on missions. Revealing Mammon's situation would get strange, but she'd believed him when he told her he'd been frozen in stasis for eight years so Curse-induced age regression that was now being made up for at double speed was not that outlandish in comparison.

* * *

A group where everybody is expected to agree with the leader in everything is a cult.

Xanxus flicked through the meagre offering the Varia library had supplied and huffed; he was going to have to put in a request with Information.

 _A group where everybody is expected to agree with the leader in everything is a cult_.

Florrie's words on how it was normal for people to disagree with their leaders had come back to haunt him, so Xanxus had tried to ward them off by reading up on cults and how they worked. Except there hadn't been much in the Varia library –mostly analyses of mass suicides– and a few articles in magazines about people who'd left cults.

What he had found wasn't enough for him to draw conclusions, so he was going to have to wait. Annoying; Bel was off on holiday right now so the Varia Boss couldn't talk to him –this was too important for a phone call– and now this was something _else_ that had to wait. Try the internet, maybe? He'd have to sort through the garbage himself but it would be better than nothing.

Leaving the library and strolling quickly down the hall towards Information, Xanxus went over what else he could do with today. There weren't many missions coming in so he didn't have paperwork, meetings with various Dons didn't start up again until Tuesday –he would be seeing Cavallone for lunch– Florrie was menstrual and grumpy so he was giving her space and Squalo was currently under Medical observation and wasn't allowed to leave the building, although Luss had relented enough to allow the shark to train. Without Flames.

Well, he'd read everything in the building on frostbite and how to treat it, so maybe he should try out some visualisations of how he thought Harmony would work to reduce his scarring? Start on one forearm, since that would be easy to see and there wasn't anything delicate to damage there if it went slightly wrong, unlike his hands or face.

His reading implied his scars were superficial and that they should fade over a year or two, which they hadn't; that might be a result of his Denying them though, since doing that meant his body couldn't work on breaking down the scar tissue because it wasn't aware of it being there. Scar-reducing creams were also suggested, but one of the papers had been on investigating alternatives and outright said there was no statistical difference in outcomes between the expensive creams and regular cocoa butter. He had a _lot_ of scarring, so if he was going to try that he should go for the option that didn't require a prescription and came in big tubs rather than tiny tubes.

Generally though, Harmony seemed likely to work; he just had to persuade the scarred areas to 'agree' with the unscarred areas in terms of cell layout and tissue behaviour. It would probably take him a few tries to get it right and he'd have to go slow to make sure there weren't any complications, but if he managed to create a visible difference on his arms he'd take the results to Luss, so the Sun could speed things along with Activation and help him work on the more hard-to-reach and delicate areas like his back and face.

He also wasn't going to do _anything_ near his groin without medical supervision, thank-you-very-much; he wasn't Stupid.

Overall, spending more time with the scars showing –although he apparently shouldn't expose them to direct sunlight– was probably a good idea. Xanxus had adjusted his daily routine accordingly, to take the Mist-trick covering them off at night and replace it in the mornings, since what he did in bed was nobody's business. Letting them show while he was at Florrie's was also the plan, since he'd determined that she really _wasn't_ repulsed or even slightly unsettled by the fact that more than half his face was patchy and red and that she saw the illusion as a kind of lie.

Which… she wasn't wrong. In fact it was several lies tangled together, half of which he was telling to himself, and it annoyed him that he hadn't faced up to that sooner. Then again, it wasn't like the Varia was a safe place to explore vulnerabilities –he did that at Florrie's for a _reason_ – so up until recently he hadn't exactly had the space to face up to it.

He needed a house. A tiny holiday hut would do; just somewhere that wasn't the Varia that was his and private enough that he could secure it to his liking. That way he could do personal shit without being surrounded by people he was required to lead and having to take that into consideration.

* * *

"The Prince is aware of Boss's advisor."

Xanxus raised an eyebrow; that was an interesting role that Bel had cast Florrie in. Especially since the conversation was taking place in Italian so the word he used was 'consigliere,' which had strongly mafia-flavoured implications in certain circles, as well as being used by various elected officials and in the titles assigned to certain business positions.

"But not interested in meeting her," the Varia Boss drawled.

The Storm Officer waved a hand vaguely. "The Prince does not see why he should; she is not Varia or royalty after all."

It was interesting that Bel specified 'not Varia' rather than 'not Quality.' "I'd prefer it," Xanxus said flatly, "so she knows you."

"The Prince will do so then," Belphegor agreed with a desultory shrug. "Would sometime next week be appropriate, so that she has time to prepare for a royal guest?"

It would be polite to warn Florrie in advance and make sure that she had time to steel herself for the snobbish bucket of crazy that was Prince the Ripper, yes. "I'll let you know what day she'd prefer," Xanxus told his Storm.

Bel nodded, the movement halfway to a bow, then turned and ambled out of the office. Xanxus poured himself a drink; well that was one thing over and done with at least, and Bel being indifferent was in many ways far better than the Storm being curious. Although there was no guarantee the disinterest would last; Bel was whimsical like that.

Well then. This was still as good a start as he could have hoped for.

* * *

Talking to Cavallone was not as trying as some of his previous conversations with Dons had been; horse respected him as a powerful, capable Sky and an equal, despite being one of the few who knew that Xanxus was a bastard whoreson with no connections whatsoever to the Vongola line.

Cavallone had also been the person to provoke the Varia Boss into fighting the Vindice and almost getting Squalo killed, so Xanxus could respect the other Sky's pragmatic ruthlessness. They were never going to be friends though, no matter that horse clearly believed them to be such already; that was probably Xanxus's fault for leveraging the connection for Florrie's birthday treat. He could work with it; Cavallone feeling that he'd been let into the Varia Boss's confidences because he was trusted with details of a civilian Xanxus cared about meant that horse would try to reciprocate a level of intimacy he considered equivalent, which in turn meant more information and opportunities.

Horse also had considerable influence over Chew Toy as Reborn's previous student, which was another useful lever. Chew Toy was never going to listen to Xanxus, no matter how sensible and practical his reasoning, so better to persuade Cavallone and let the klutzy blond convince Sawada's spawn in his own time.

Shark's idea of having Cavallone teach Chew Toy a bit about the Alliance had merit for all that horse was an Ally rather than actually part of the wider Vongola, but even a little cultural sensitivity would be better than nothing; Xanxus doubted that Reborn was teaching much about the cultural subtext underpinning the mafia generally or the Vongola specifically and Chew Toy's non-Japanese 'Guardians' lacked the understanding to fill that gap due to obliviousness, youth or both. Nothing was therefore what Chew Toy currently had to work with; idiotic trash, making the Family look vulnerable with his ignorance.

The meeting wrapped up in good time and Cavallone ended it by mentioning that Xanxus was free to bring his 'lover' over to the ranch and ride the horses any time he liked; after all they were Allies and it was no trouble at all. The Varia Boss hadn't answered conclusively either way, but he honestly _was_ tempted to see if Florrie wanted to go riding again. It had been fun and different and he didn't get much of that kind of light-hearted entertainment in his life.

Maybe for Valentine's Day? They weren't dating but his friend had an inner imp of mischief and knew very well that people apparently thought they were involved, so would enjoy the prospect of encouraging the misunderstanding. Because apparently anybody not paying enough attention to see what was actually going on _deserved_ to be misled.

Florrie was kind and worked hard at being considerate, but she was still a Cloud and given to passing judgement without really thinking about it. Which Xanxus could admit was one of his own flaws too; not being Quality didn't mean a person was worthless, even though it often felt like the Varia were the only people on the planet who actually paid attention to what was going on under their noses.

Which reminded him, he should stop by the farmstead and see if his friend was ready to ask those questions he rather needed to answer for her.

* * *

He found Florrie sitting at the kitchen table, staring at rows and rows of candied peel –lemon and two types of orange, separated into sections and marked with post-its– laid out on strips of baking paper in front of her. On the worktop behind her were a triple-batch-worth of bitter oranges, about a dozen variously scarlet blood oranges and fifteen lemons piled up on a tray, all peeled and with the ends chopped off.

His friend did not look up as he closed the front door behind him; now she knew he was mafia Xanxus had given up pretending that the lock would keep him out. Florrie didn't seem to care –half the time she never locked the door during the day anyway– so he didn't feel obliged to cultivate the illusion.

"Looks good," he commented; it really did.

"Thanks," Florrie said quietly. "Xanxus, what are you paid to do?"

Not 'what do you do for a living' or even 'what is your job.' He wasn't going to lie though. "I kill people."

She went on staring at the fruits of her morning's labours. "Squalo calls you boss and you said you managed an international division of not-your-father's business. Which I'm guessing now is a mafia family."

"It's an assassination division." Florrie called the old fart 'not your father' fairly regularly; generally when she was feeling stressed and her ability to be kind wore a bit thin. When it wore a lot thin she called the old fart 'that shit.' Xanxus walked a little further into the kitchen and settled against the wall behind his friend; if she wanted to look at him she'd have turned his way when he walked in, but she hadn't so she didn't.

"So not-your-father commissions deaths and pays you for them."

"Not just him; we take other clients, so long as they're not going against the Family's interests."

Florrie sighed, the sound hitching in the middle. "Business is brisk, I take it?"

"Very." Over two-hundred assassins all earning enough to be employed more or less full time and year round was a lot of contracts, for all that there were busy seasons and quiet seasons.

His friend quietly covered her face with her hands; Xanxus watched uncomfortably as her subtle, almost-imperceptible Flame signature shivered in time with her uneven breathing and not-quite-silent sobs.

"I hate that there is a market for murder," Florrie whispered eventually, pushing her chair back just far enough that she could half-turn and meet his eyes, her face blotchy red and stained with tears. "And I hate that it's lucrative enough to keep an entire _division_ of people employed full-time. I also hate that disgusting waste of skin calling himself your father for _employing_ and _paying_ all those people while simultaneously disparaging and belittling you, as though you all doing that isn't all his responsibility in the first place." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, breathing out slowly.

Xanxus fidgeted, acutely aware that she hadn't said she hated _him_ yet.

"Xanxus?"

"Yes?"

"How old were you when you started killing people for money?"

"Fifteen."

"Before or after you found out that shit wasn't your father?"

"After." Xanxus licked his lips. "Before I attacked him."

His friend nodded, head bowed and rubbing her face with her sleeve. "You said you were home-schooled; what formal qualifications did you have back then? Diplomas and so on; state-endorsed paperwork that proves to people who don't know you personally that you are intelligent, capable and educated."

Xanxus wasn't quite sure where she was going with this, but answered anyway. "None." He had qualifications now –Varia paperwork asserting he spoke various languages, was competent in handling a whole range of firearms and explosives and so on– but no regular education certificates of any kind. That was something he could actually rectify, now that he thought about it; sort something out with the Academy so as to take the exams to get himself a High-school diploma and have it back-dated to the year he would have turned nineteen if he hadn't been stuck on ice, then see about finding a university course that looked fun and didn't require him to show up to many –or any– classes. The latter wouldn't be at all hard to find; a good percentage of Varia took classes or were in the midst of pursuing degrees despite missions, training and other work taking up their time. Even the shark was doing it; was most of the way to the end, in fact, since sick leave had given him lots of extra time to do coursework in.

"Fucking piece of _shit_ ," his friend snarled lowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "He knew you weren't his son, what was he _expecting_ you to end up doing with your life after limiting your options like that?!"

That was a damn good question; it wasn't like he could ever have led the CEDEF and all the other Vongola Houses had capable middle-aged bosses or underbosses who'd been groomed for their respective jobs by their predecessors for decades before taking over the positions with the old fart's approval. "No clue," Xanxus admitted tiredly. Had the old fart planned on marrying him off to some heiress like a prize stud, or had he intended to keep Xanxus as a spoiled pet to dote on and help him feel benevolent until he finally croaked?

His friend levered herself to her feet, stumbled over to him and leant her face against his chest. "I love you so much, okay? I just… I'm wrestling with my ingrained cultural prejudices here," she mumbled, voice muffled by his shirt.

Xanxus felt his lips twitch wryly at the mental image that painted and carefully wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her as comfortingly as he could when she didn't flinch away. "Thank you for listening," he murmured simply. That she hadn't just kicked him out on principle for upsetting her ingrained perception of how the world should work was already plenty, especially for a Cloud; that she wasn't even shouting at him for being a murderer was fucking _amazing_ from a civilian.

"This is going to take me time," Florrie added, her face still planted just below his shoulder. "I just… it needs to settle and I need to get my head around it without either getting all hypocritically judgy or dismissing your agency because you were fifteen and we all make such _stellar_ choices at fifteen, even when we're not being yanked about by other people."

Xanxus snorted; yeah, he could see where she was coming from there.

"I know you're brilliant and capable and intuitive and could do anything you wanted if you put your mind to it, but I can also see that _you_ didn't know that then –and you'd just been horribly betrayed– and that you probably wouldn't have ditched the mafia even if you _had_ known," his friend rambled on. "But that you're still in the same profession now says you like your job and you're good at it. Really good, seeing as you're in charge despite your asshole-induced eight-year absence."

"Not the killing that's the fun part," Xanxus specified, not wanting her to get the wrong idea there. "I like the technical challenges, the people side and learning new shit." Yes, shooting people was cathartic sometimes but it wasn't what he was actually _interested_ in.

"Your co-workers?"

"They're all nuts but they're _my_ crazies," Xanxus admitted fondly, stroking Florrie's hair. He could say it here; they couldn't hear him.

"Okay." His friend pushed away from him and straightened up, looking him firmly in the eye. "I don't like it," she admitted candidly, "but that's _my_ problem. You're my friend and I care about you and want you to keep visiting, but it's going to take me a while to get my head around this to the point that I can get it to settle."

"Take all the time you need," Xanxus assured her, stroking her cheek with his thumb. This was way, way better than he'd dared to hope.

"Thank you," Florrie said quietly, then took a quick breath and squared her shoulders. "Can you help me decant the peel into jars and get the big pan out again, please? I'm going to turn the fruit into shredless marmalade. Well, jelly basically."

Xanxus tilted her chin up, bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "Of course."

His Cloud was the _best_ , seriously.

* * *

Squalo was still under Medical scrutiny when Xanxus headed down to Florrie's the following week, Bel walking alongside him with a small bag hanging from his fingers, the gift it contained wrapped in tissue paper. The Storm Officer had refuse to disclose what he'd acquired for his fellow Guardian, having insisted it was appropriate and therefore not his Sky's business.

Xanxus had allowed the secrecy on the basis that Bel was particular about proper manners, so the gift probably _was_ entirely civilian-appropriate, and that Prince the Ripper would be on his best behaviour so as not to be made to visit a second time to apologise. The Storm Officer was genuinely disinterested in his new fellow Guardian and would therefore make the minimally necessary polite overtures but no more than that.

He had warned Florrie about Bel's foibles –and that yes, he _was_ a prince– so she wouldn't get wrong-footed or make unhelpful assumptions. He did want this to go well, after all.

Florrie opened the door; Bel instantly held out the gift.

"The Prince has brought the Advisor a gift to welcome her into Boss's Family."

Florrie accepted the bag with a bob that would probably have been a curtsey if she'd been wearing a skirt. "Thank you very much, erm, are you a Royal Highness or a Serene Highness?"

Bel beamed, his entire demeanour brightening. "The Prince is a Serene Highness."

"Then thank you very much, Your Serene Highness. Please come in."

Bel bounced through the door as Florrie stepped aside, Xanxus following behind.

"Would you like something to drink? I have coffee, several kinds of tea and fresh lemonade."

"The Prince would like lemonade," Bel announced, settling on one of the kitchen chairs. Xanxus nodded when Florrie glanced his way –lemonade would be fine– and accepted the proffered glass a few seconds later. His friend then opened her present.

"Clotted cream! That's fantastic! Thanks again, Your Serene Highness."

"The Advisor has the Prince's permission to call him by his Varia Name," Bel said agreeably, "which is Belphegor."

"Thank you, Belphegor," Florrie repeated, most of her attention on the medium-sized jar the tissue paper had been hiding. "I will have to make scones; would you like plain, sultana, mixed peel or cherry scones?"

"The Prince feels plain scones are best with jam and clotted cream."

"Then I will make plain scones; I actually have some strawberry and raspberry jam today, so we won't have to compromise with marmalade."

Bel hummed. "Marmalade on mixed peel scones would be pleasant in hot weather."

"That would be very tart and refreshing," Florrie agreed, putting on her apron and pulling a mixing bowl out of a cupboard, "if untraditional. And possibly better with just butter rather than with clotted cream as well."

Xanxus sat down in the other kitchen chair as his friend set about cooking up a batch of scones; he'd not seen Florrie in full-blown hospitality-mode before and it was interesting how it was both fully in-character yet not at all how she behaved around him on a normal day. It was also interesting how she'd taken her cues from Bel and matched the Storm Officer in terms of formality and polite distance, yet wasn't compromising on being cheerfully herself and offering food. Florrie liked feeding people.

Also Bel, a _Serene_ Highness? That was _hilarious_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Pick up the pieces (and take stock)**

Squalo was still under observation for his heart –there had been two follow-up sessions so far, neither lasting more than fifteen minutes– and wasn't allowed to take missions again yet, so he'd decided to get out of Varia HQ a bit for a change of scene. Spending a day cooking with Florrie and Boss last week hadn't been at all bad, but if he was going to go out he may as well spend the day doing things _he_ enjoyed, rather than tagging along on somebody else's idea of a good time. Boss might enjoy the quiet productivity of cooking, but Squalo would rather not have to clean his prosthetic again due to juice soaking through his glove at some point in the process.

With this in mind he'd had a think about what might be fun to do, then stopped by Sumu's office on Tuesday evening so see if she fancied joining him the following morning.

"Voi, I'm going to Palermo tomorrow to wander around the galleries, want to come with?"

His fellow Officer glanced around her office at the paperwork –minimal– and smiled slightly. "That sounds fun," she agreed. "Could we visit the archaeological museum as well, or maybe the Chinese Palace?"

"Why the Chinese Palace?"

"There're a few things I've always wanted to investigate in the Ethnographic Museum," Lessi admitted, "but never had the time for." The Ethnographic Museum was in the Chinese Palace, so that hung together.

"Sure, why not?" Squalo had never been to the Ethnographic Museum so it would at least be new and interesting.

"Tomorrow morning then?"

"Leaving around eight, so there's time to drive into town and park up somewhere quiet," Squalo agreed. He had relatives who lived in Palermo, so his plan was to park up at his uncle's workplace; that way he wouldn't have to pay to leave the car somewhere for most of the day.

"I'll see you in the morning then, Squalo."

* * *

Lessi, like Squalo, had been in the arts' track in school; also like Squalo, it had been due to parental pressure rather than personal preference. However that didn't mean they couldn't have fun with what they'd learned and scoff together at the utter mishmash _disaster_ that was the Chinese Palace, snigger over historical anecdotes of the artists whose paintings were on display at the galleries and identify all the various saints depicted by their accoutrements rather than reading the labels.

Squalo had a great time and knew his fellow Officer and newest friend did too; they'd both done things they'd been putting off, had a late lunch in a local bar and then walked around town talking about the architecture of the buildings around them, which varied from twelfth-century Norman churches to ugly fifties' and sixties' condominiums.

Both of them being Alliance, they knew the identities of a lot of the people –Don Lanza for instance– who had profited significantly from Palermo's lawless building boom in the decades after the Second World War. However as Lessi pointed out, knowing whose fault it was just made it harder to refrain from making a house call and pillorying the culprit for their crimes against architecture.

The worst bit was that all the Dons Squalo knew of who'd been involved in what got called 'the Sack of Palermo' lived in large, lavish houses and centuries' old villas surrounded by green space, the kind of properties that had been destroyed in their hundreds around Palermo to make way for the cement jungle of shoddy condominiums that now dominated the city's skyline. Shoddy condominiums built as cheaply and poorly as they could be –quality reduced and building regulations ignored for speed and profit's sake– meant that those that hadn't been carefully renovated were falling apart and most of them were fire hazards as well as being eyesores.

"So if you could do anything to make people pay for doing that, what would you do?" Squalo asked as they drove slowly out of the city towards the west, along with the rest of the rush-hour traffic.

"I would arrange for their drains to be Cursed," Lessi said vindictively. "There is nothing so frustrating as dealing with erratic blockages, unpleasant smells and occasional vermin sightings, spending tens of thousands of euros on renovations over several years but _still_ not being able to pinpoint the problem."

Squalo raised an eyebrow; that sounded like experience talking. Lessi noticed and elaborated, keeping most of her attention on the traffic since she'd elected to drive on the way back: "When I was ten something went wrong in the pipes of our house but nobody managed to pin down what was actually _causing_ the problems until almost three years later. Turned out the villa's original Arab drainage system wasn't equipped for the rigours of modern plumbing and probably shouldn't have been hooked up to it in the first place, but whoever put the pipes in had decided to cut their costs and pocket the difference. My mother was so, so angry; I think she found the grandson of the guy who'd done the work back in the thirties and tore him a new one. Demanded a refund too, adjusted for inflation."

"Sins of our fathers, hm?" Squalo said wryly. That sounded like a _lot_ of money.

"Well it was that or make a special trip to the cemetery," Lessi pointed out, "which she may have done as well. I put nothing past my mother."

Yeah, anybody who could stay married to Don Scarlatti for so long had to really be something. Especially when Don Scarlatti was one of the few Alliance Dons who had never taken up with a mistress; clearly they got along well, despite neither being what you might call parent material.

Fourteen-year-olds with half-decent parents did not immediately stuff their belongings into a school rucksack and climb out of their bedroom windows in the middle of the night upon receiving an invitation to join the Varia, leaving a note for their parents to find the following morning. Squalo had known from prior professional interactions that Don Scarlatti was an ass, but he hadn't realised the assholery extended to the man's family life until Lessi had done that.

"What about you, Squalo?"

Squalo grinned, enthusiastically launching into his own revenge fantasies as they left the city limits and got onto the less congested roads leading south towards home. Today had been even more fun than he'd been aiming for.

* * *

Bester had been seen leaving the grounds an hour ago, but when Xanxus arrived at Florrie's place it was immediately clear that the liger wasn't there; none of the Box Weapons were designed with subtlety in mind, so they couldn't hide their Flame signatures. Xanxus groaned under his breath at the prospect of having to chase down an apex predator able to disintegrate people with a roar and decided to stick around for a bit, in case the liger had simply taken a detour. Or found a prime napping spot somewhere just out of Xanxus's range.

Bester had done that before, seemingly just to annoy him. Then again, his Box Weapon _was_ a cat; contrariness was inherent and not necessarily personal.

As he walked down the track into the farmyard Xanxus glanced along the side of the farmhouse and noticed that the airer was standing out on the paved path that ran around the house, one end just visible past the corner of the building. If Florrie had done laundry today then she probably had the door leading to the garden open so she could keep an eye on it, which meant that if he jumped the fence he could get in that way rather than bother going in through the kitchen.

The glass door was indeed open; Florrie was sitting along the couch in a woolly jumper with both blankets tossed over her, a notebook and bible open on her lap. Xanxus deliberately scuffed his boots on the path and shredded the illusion hiding his scars before stepping over the threshold; he'd made Florrie literally jump more than once by moving too silently and startling her, which had stopped being funny the second time when she'd dropped a glass in the kitchen and it had shattered explosively on the tiled floor, sharp fragments flying everywhere.

His friend had been wearing socks and hadn't dared move from her spot in case she cut her feet. Xanxus had needed to sweep up the larger shards himself, then get out the small vacuum cleaner from the bottom of the pantry and do another round of the entire kitchen –and the hallway because the door had been open– then fetch her slippers before she could be coaxed into moving.

Xanxus had also had to carefully hoover the tops of her feet; if she hadn't been wearing socks those shards could have cut her skin. He was much more conscientious about making sure she knew he was there after that; yes, the way she squeaked _was_ funny, but it wasn't worth her pain.

That she'd visibly been on the brink of bursting into tears the moment the glass disintegrated into sharp-edged shrapnel had made him feel like shit, which had only got worse when she mentioned that the cutlery, crockery and most of the pans she used belonged to the guy who owned the farm, so she had to replace any breakages.

Xanxus's decision to amuse himself at her expense had cost his friend money she didn't have to spare and narrowly avoided injuring her. He'd made a point of not doing it again and had been quicker to react thereafter, once managing to catch a plate that had slipped through her fingers because she'd been elbow-deep in washing up when he walked in and hadn't been paying attention to the sound of the door opening.

"Hey," he said quietly, leaning on the back of the sofa so as to peek at what she was writing; it looked like a list of names, along with verse references and bullet points describing the characters in question.

His friend looked up at him after finishing her current sentence. "Hi Xanxus." She looked –and felt– stressed, like she wasn't getting enough sleep.

Xanxus had a good idea of what was bothering her. "Still wrestling with your prejudices?"

Florrie closed her eyes and sagged, folding over forwards until her forehead was resting on her raised knees; Xanxus instantly felt guilty for bringing it up. "I can go," he offered.

"Don't go," his friend said instantly, her head jerking up again. "I just –please– Xanxus, can you sit down and remind me that you're a person, please?"

It was almost adorable how awkward Florrie got with her words when she felt strongly about things. "Sure," Xanxus agreed, walking around the sofa and pausing when his friend shuffled sideways to make room for him to sit next to her. Well, if that was what she wanted…

Settling on the sofa he twisted to face Florrie, trapping her ankles between his hip and the padded back. Xanxus then gently reached out and smoothed a few loose strands of hair out of his friend's face. "No cooking today?" He asked.

Florrie snorted, a smile ghosting across her face. "The oranges are almost over and over half the lemons have been picked, so there's nothing left to do except wait for those stragglers to ripen and plan what to plant in the garden come spring. Which means I will have to either buy seedlings and cart up here somehow, or buy seeds and germinate those indoors next month so that when the weather gets a bit warmer I can plant them out." Her smile widened. "It's a relief to be able to _not_ cook for once. Or twice."

"I suppose." He hadn't looked at it in that light. "Planting despite not being here next summer?" Xanxus hadn't expected her to bother; Florrie didn't like the idea of putting work into things that weren't going to get used or appreciated.

"I'm staying until July, Xanxus," his friend informed him mildly; "it's not like I have to be at university before September and I'm only going back early because I want to spend time with my family and my friend is getting married on July fourteenth, which I don't want to miss."

Oh. Well. That was a month longer than he'd anticipated and very welcome. Which reminded him; "how's your other friend? The one with leukemia?"

"She's had her bone marrow transplant and says she's recovering well," Florrie said, brightening subtly. "Still taking the inhibitors, but I looked up her specific leukemia online and less than one percent of people have died of it since they developed the new drugs in two-thousand-and-one."

Well that was encouraging. Not that Xanxus cared personally, but Florrie cared so her knowing her friend was going to be alright meant she would be feeling better about things generally. "Good to hear."

"Want to know the funny part?" Florrie asked, leaning closer with a sly grin on her face.

"Tell me."

"She's now dating one of the nurses."

Xanxus snickered. That was definitely funny. "Most people don't get admitted to hospital just to get a date."

Florrie laughed, shifting closer so her forehead bumped against his shoulder. "That's what _I_ told her!"

Xanxus pulled his friend properly around onto his lap, rearranging the blankets so her legs were still fully covered. "So what were you reading?" He asked, feeling that Florrie had settled enough for it to be safe to ask the question. She still tensed slightly, but she didn't pull away from him; instead she leant more of her weight into his chest.

"I was reminding myself that as a Christian I'm not allowed to judge people, and that a lot of the people mentioned in the Bible as specifically favoured by God were in fact murderers," she said quietly, staring off into space. "Some of them were even professional murderers."

Xanxus was well aware that 'Do not judge, or you too will be judged' was something Jesus had said, but that didn't mean it was something that people actually _did_ ; he'd been judged his entire life, mostly by people who considered themselves devout Catholics. "Hence the names?" He guessed.

"Mm-hm," Florrie agreed. "Ehud the left-handed who stabbed Eglon King of Moab in the belly in a private room of his own palace after claiming he had a secret message to deliver, then locked the doors behind him and told the staff the king was busy so he could escape and raise an army. Jael, who smiled and gave General Sisera milk to drink in her tent and assured him she would hide him so he fell asleep, but instead hammered a tent peg through his temple into the ground, killing him; Samson, who was arrogant and temperamental and murdered people by the dozens for upsetting him. Even the ever-lauded David once killed two-hundred men simply because Saul demanded one hundred Philistine foreskins as a bride-price for his daughter and he decided to double it to show off his commitment."

Xanxus raised an eyebrow at that last one; ouch. Also, was that Bester approaching? Yes it was; good to know he wouldn't have to go hunting for the Box Animal later.

"Never mind that after becoming king David fell madly in lust with one of his generals' wives –Bathsheba– basically raped her, then when she ended up pregnant orchestrated the death of her husband to keep it a secret and married her," Florrie continued her voice dry. "Not that he got away with it, obviously –he got thoroughly called out by the prophet Nathan– but the point is, those people were all explicitly chosen and loved by God despite behaving in ways that could easily be considered criminal."

It was, Xanxus felt, really nice that his friend and Guardian was making this much of an effort to change her entire perspective on criminals generally rather than just making an exception for him and letting it lie. Most people remained comfortably within the confines of their own prejudices, dismissing everything that didn't fit with their perspective; even he did it sometimes. More than just sometimes, honestly; Florrie lived to defy his expectations and it was the most he'd ever been pleasantly surprised in his _life_.

"You're a good friend," he told her warmly, kissing her hairline.

Florrie glanced up at him through her eyelashes, but whatever she was going to say was interrupted by a loud splintering sound coming from the garden. Jerking around to look out through the glass doors, Xanxus realised the perpetrator that had just muscled its way through his friend's recently-repaired garden fence was Bester. Bester dragging a fully-grown wild boar.

Sliding out from under Florrie and striding out into the garden, Xanxus glared at the liger dragging what looked like one hundred kilograms of male boar –the mane was distinctive– through Florrie's herb garden. The smell of aromatics was very strong; Bester sneezed, dropping the gigantic carcass on an already-crushed rosemary bush and shaking his head.

"What?" Florrie demanded faintly, coming up behind him with a blanket wrapped around her like a skirt and staring in utter confusion at the Box Weapon, which grabbed his kill around the throat and dragged it over to her, dropping the heavily-bristled corpse on her socked feet and butting affectionately at her stomach.

Xanxus wasn't sure if he wanted to die or to thoroughly destroy the damnable liger for embarrassing him like this; tigers were solitary but lions were social, sharing their kill with their pride. That Bester had decided to gift Florrie with an intact kill was however _not_ normal lion behaviour, implying it stemmed from Xanxus and how he felt about his friend and their relationship right now.

Being a liger, Bester's options for solving an emotional problem were 'kill it,' 'snuggle' and 'feed it.' Seeing as the first was off the table and Xanxus was keeping his distance while his friend worked through her feelings over the whole Varia thing, Bester had clearly decided that meant door number three would resolve matters and tried to fix the issue himself.

There was no way he could avoid his Officers finding out about this and Luss would _giggle_ over it.

"Thank you," Florrie managed, scratching the dreadful feline behind the ears and turning to Xanxus in confusion. "Xanxus, what do I _do_ with it?"

"Butcher it?" He suggested, making an effort to suppress his irate humiliation.

"I don't know _how_ ," Florrie admitted helplessly, looking down at the dead animal that was probably twice her weight and the shameless oversized cat fawning for her attention and appreciation.

Deciding that removing the annoying liger from the equation could only be an improvement right now, Xanxus recalled the Box Weapon and stepped closer to examine the carcass more closely. The boar was not bleeding from anywhere but its neck was broken; typical tiger hunting strategy. That meant the meat would be clean, but also that the blood was still sitting inside coagulating.

"This is a farm," he pointed out reasonably, grabbing the boar by the ruff and dragging the head off the ground to get a feel for the weight. "Should be a butchery."

Florrie paused. "There's a little building away from the barn, down to the south a bit," she admitted. "Looks like a very sturdy shed, but is tiled on the inside with a drain in the floor and has running water. It's the only other place on the entire farm connected to the mains and has a shower head with an extendible hose."

Xanxus nodded; that sounded right. Hefting up the front end of the boar –it definitely weighed considerably more than he did– he leaned on his Flames and managed to sling it across his shoulders. "Lead the way."

Florrie gaped. "How– no never mind let me show you –I am going to want an answer later though!"

"Flames," Xanxus drawled as she darted back into the house to put on her slippers, then led the way along the paved path to the gate leading to the yard.

"But how– never mind, later," Florrie said firmly. "Do you need anything? There's another little room in the shed with a worktop and stove-thing and a bin full of salt along with a lot of hooks, and there are meat hooks in the upstairs storage too."

Xanxus knew how to butcher various game animals for immediate consumption –most Varia did, it was a useful skill– but not how to preserve meat beyond cooking it and then eating it cold later. "It'll take a while to drain," he said; "I'll call Housekeeping and have them send somebody down to help."

"There's no need–"

"Bester smashed your garden fence and brought you a hundred-kilogram wild boar," Xanxus interrupted dryly. "I'd say that's my responsibility." He was going to fix the fence himself though; he'd helped her put it up in the first place and it galled him that Bester had shouldered through it that effortlessly. Yes, the liger was almost three metres long, weighed in at three hundred and twenty kilograms and was still getting bigger –Xanxus was growing too and Luss thought there was a correlation– but it was _still_ annoying to see something you'd put time and effort into building get turned into collateral damage.

Florrie visibly considered this as she opened the door for him. "Fine. I'll make tea," she said firmly, "and a batch of ginger biscuits."

Xanxus grinned at her sideways as he ducked down to get himself and the boar inside without hitting anything on the doorframe; he liked Florrie's ginger biscuits, she always put more spices than just ginger in them so they had more of a kick. "Like that," he admitted.

"I'll go get started then," she said, smiling and turning away to stride across the yard. Xanxus glanced briefly after her, then turned to survey the tiled space he was now standing inside.

It was definitely intended for butchering livestock, so it would do for the boar. He had knives which would do to bleed the animal and gut it, but he had a feeling pigs got shaved rather than skinned outright and that would take a straight razor. It was also a task he'd much rather delegate to Housekeeping, along with what to do with the various internal organs once they were removed and how to preserve it all.

Bester had gone hunting for Florrie and brought her a whole adult male boar without even nibbling on it a bit first. A fully grown mature boar with damn big tusks, even.

Lussuria _would_ find out and Xanxus was _never_ going to hear the end of this.

* * *

Butchering a boar turned out to be a bit more complicated than a deer; when he called the Kitchen for a second opinion they informed him he had to scald the boar first and scrape all the bristles off with a blunt edge. They also 'suggested' he wait until they got down to the farm, since scalding and scraping a boar was a three or four person job.

Eyeballing the hundred-kilogram carcass and considering the logistics of dumping it in a tin bath of hot –but not boiling– water, Xanxus decided to bend to the voice of the experts.

In the end it took almost an hour to get the boar properly scraped; it was hot, messy work and eternally frustrating in how you thought you'd got it done then found out you'd missed a spot. The only upside was that by the time the carcass was truly scraped clean and hung up Florrie had got the biscuits out of the oven and made another pot of tea. Having clean hands and taking a break to eat hot ginger biscuits fresh from the oven did a lot to restore Xanxus's mood, and he went back to cutting up the boar in much better temper.

Compared to the scalding and scraping, hanging and gutting was laughably straightforward despite requiring a hacksaw. It was less bloody than people with no experience cutting up animals seemed to think; much cleaner than people thought too, as all the innards came out whole so there was no spillage or smell since he wasn't some Dumb amateur who thought sticking the knife in as far as possible was the way to go, when all that did was puncture the innards and spoil the meat if the gut or intestines got damaged. The Varia's butcher and two assistants who'd come down to assist him washed the organs and separated out the less useful bits, then told him that the carcass really needed to be left overnight to stiffen before splitting.

Well, unless he cheated and chilled it through with Flames.

Xanxus's memories from the fake future had provided him with an explanation of how Zero-Point Breakthrough worked in terms of stealing the victim's Flames –the Mosca circuitry worked on the same principles– and Xanxus had tried it out for himself and determined it sound, but he hadn't yet attempted _anything_ on the more practical side. He couldn't even parse through a theoretical exercise of how to go about twisting his Flames inside out like that without breaking down in shakes.

Trauma was fucking inconvenient but the reading said he had to be nice to himself, even though it also suggested desensitisation therapy. Seeing as Xanxus did _not_ trust either of the other Skies capable of using Zero-Point –Chew Toy and the old fucker– and couldn't exactly control it himself if he was panicking, that was a wash. Unless he built a little machine to do the conversion for him, which he could then switch on or off at will.

That had potential actually; small enough to not be a genuine risk, but effective enough for therapeutic purposes. He'd have a go at designing one; the trick would be buffering it so it didn't freeze itself.

However right now he didn't have that, so further butchering was put off until the following morning. That gave the butcher's assistants the time to get fresh salt, more meat hooks and clean out the rest of the little slaughterhouse properly and the butcher an opportunity to talk to Florrie about how she wanted the different cuts to be preserved. The Varia had a smokehouse, so that was on the table too.

Xanxus listened, more than a little interested now he'd gotten involved in the process. Butchering wasn't something he generally did when animals were caught on missions –he was Boss and that was something for the mooks and lower-ranking assassins to do– but it had given him a warm feeling of accomplishment to know he'd helped put food on his friend's table. It was also almost mindlessly physical, like shooting was and gunsmithing could be, a precise routine that had to be completed perfectly but did not require any particular technical brilliance.

He was tempted to stop by the kitchens later and ask questions. This was a useful skill after all and there were still countries where licensed butchers went around remote farms, so it had professional applications too; nobody would question a butcher carrying knives, bone saws and a rifle.

He was Boss; he could do it if he wanted to. He did, so he would.

* * *

The first thing Squalo did after Luss finally agreed that his transplanted heart now fully registered as 'his' in every way that mattered to his immune system, since he'd been off the drugs for long enough now for confirmation, was demand spaghetti alla marinara.

The second thing he did was come down with a shitty flu virus, along with everybody else at the Varia because it was the last week of January, only a few days before February began, and all the nasty shit people had brought home from their foreign holidays and been incubating was all coming out at once. Squalo was inordinately grateful to no longer be on immunosuppressants, because if he had been he'd probably have ended up with a chest infection or something. As it was he spent ten days coughing and aching and feeling like shit, because of _course_ the Varia would incubate a flu virus that was more resistant to high temperatures than usual. This was one of the cons of having a large community of Flame-Actives that nobody thought to mention, although Varia Medical did a good line in experimental vaccines for this very reason. Vongola Medical didn't, because the Vongola's Actives were fairly spread out and all lived in their family homes, so didn't often wander abroad, picking up exotic illnesses as souvenirs and mutating them for the folks at home.

Of course there being a Flame-proof flu around Varia Headquarters meant Boss couldn't _possibly_ have that meeting with Nono, because Don Vongola was well into his seventies by now and something like this could easily kill him. Boss was even off his food, so he was _definitely_ contagious.

Being sick, Boss was disinclined to go make Florrie sick too, which while considerate and practical –she wasn't Active so a flu this potent could feasibly make her _extremely_ ill– meant Squalo's Sky was irritable at having his routine disrupted. He'd clearly found other outlets for his energy –the forge, locking himself in his bedroom, more reading in his office– but Bester was out most of the time and the liger was off Varia grounds as often as he was sprawled in a patch of sunshine somewhere blatantly obstructive, which was a very Boss way of working around the issue.

Unfortunately being ill meant not taking missions either, so Boss was in when the Vongola messenger showed up on February third with the 'invitation' –expectation– that he attend the Valentine's Masquerade Ball on the fourteenth. The messenger got chased out of Boss's office by a thrown bottle and a roar from both Sky and roused liger, but by then it was too late for Squalo to stage an incident so his Sky could escape; he'd been given the letter, which meant Nono would expect him to attend.

Squalo resigned himself to a shitty week-and-change in the run-up to the party and another shitty week in its aftermath; trust Don Vongola to ruin the entire Varia's Carnival like this.

* * *

The moment Luss pronounced him non-contagious Xanxus stormed down to the farm –despite the fine, persistent rain– let himself in and was drying off with a tea towel when his friend walked into the kitchen, her hair in messy braids, and paused.

"Xanxus?"

Xanxus then remembered that it was barely eight o'clock in the morning and earlier than he'd visited her since summer. "Family shit," he admitted, hanging the now-sodden tea towel over the back of the nearest chair.

"If you want to talk, go for it," his friend assured him, smiling his way before opening the pantry and getting out half a loaf of bread. Xanxus guessed it was one she'd baked herself yesterday or the day before; fresh bread from a bakery didn't keep well but Florrie's wholemeal loaves were still decent on day three, although generally only as toast. Seeing as toast was what Florrie ate for breakfast –unless it was stupidly hot– the loaves served their purpose very well.

Xanxus did want to talk; he'd been stewing over things for days now and he needed them _gone_.

"Being down with the flu meant I couldn't avoid receiving the invitation for the old fart's Valentine's Masquerade Ball," he started, dropping into the other chair, "so I _have_ to attend."

"That's… Wednesday next, right?" Florrie said absently, slicing the bread and turning on the grill.

"Yes." Xanxus paused to consider the context his friend would need. "Not technically anything to do with Valentine's at all; is about ushering in Carnival, hence the masks. But when Valentine's got big the old fart was all in favour of 'civilising' the Carnival madness, so made it an upper-crust dressing-up party rather than an anti-authoritarian street party with free food for the masses. It's shit and the only _good_ part is that masks are expected and nobody's allowed to unmask or reveal their own name until midnight. Of course with Flames you can feel who everybody is anyway, but it means not having to school your face as much."

"What's the dress code?" Florrie asked idly, laying out butter and marmalade from the larder on the table and moving the damp tea towel to hang on the oven door before crouching down by the grill to turn over her toast.

"Black tie or fancy dress; has to be _classy_ fancy dress," Xanxus said bitterly. The very idea pissed on the entire spirit of Carnival and he hated it. "And I'm _supposed_ to take a date; it being Valentine's and all."

"What's the women's dress code like?" his friend asked, moving the wet tea towel to hang over the open oven door, turning off the grill and tipping her toast onto a plate.

"Dinner gown," Xanxus said sourly, "or a fancy dress slash historical equivalent." It would be more _traditional_ to allow the women to wear men's clothing and vice versa, but the old fart considered that kind of fun to be subversive. Which of course it was; that was the entire _point_.

His friend sat opposite him. "Do they enforce a high heel policy?"

Xanxus had to think about that one; Florrie dug into her toast in the meantime. He'd never seen any women _not_ wearing heels –some of them men did too if they were wearing riding uniforms or historical court dress– but he wasn't sure it was an explicit policy. "Not sure," he admitted. "Why?"

"Because if it _is_ then if you can acquire a dress and mask for me inside a week I will get you kicked out of this party," Florrie informed him. "I refuse to wear heels to any event where the host is not also wearing them and it's poor form to leave your date to fend for herself if she isn't allowed in."

Xanxus instantly grasped her plan and gaped for an entire second before he was overtaken by sheer _glee_ at the prospect of getting to avoid the whole shitty party on the basis of _good manners_. "I will find out and have Luss sort out clothes," he decided instantly. "What if there isn't a shoe policy?"

"Then I will be strategically ill in short order and you will take me home immediately," his friend said easily. "I'm sure you came use your Flames to give me a temporary high fever." She took another bite of toast. "You said you just got over the flu," she added after swallowing, "so there's a ready-made explanation there."

Yes he could and that would work perfectly as a backup plan; again, he would be able to get out of things under pretences the old fart could not argue with because he was being _gentlemanly_ and _considerate_. "Love you," he informed his friend with a happy smile.

"With this in mind, can you please arrange alternative entertainment for once we've gotten out of the party?" Florrie asked after swallowing. "If I plead fever we'll have to come back here, but otherwise we could find a nice restaurant or something; it'd be a shame to waste the dressing up."

A nice quiet dinner out with his friend combined with sticking it to the old fart, adding on the bonus of further persuading the gossips that he was off the dating market so women went on not throwing themselves at him? That was a win from every possible angle. "Will borrow a big television and some DVDs if we have to go the fever route," Xanxus promised, "and find a restaurant or club we can go to otherwise."

"A club in an evening gown, Xanxus?"

"Why not?" He'd seen stranger and really, the whole point of going to a club was to enjoy yourself. "For dancing in." He didn't usually dance much but with Florrie it could be fun.

Florrie chuckled, shaking her head and getting to her feet to wash her plate. "Fine, you can take me dancing before dinner. Or after dinner; however it turns out." She set the plate in the sink and grabbed the apron. "However I'd very much like temporary hair dye as well as a mask and gloves and preferably something to stain my skin with as well; I want to be as unrecognisable as possible."

"Will do." Xanxus recognised she had cause there and since she was Latent nobody would be able to pick her out by Flames; he didn't think there was anybody outside the Varia with Flame-senses that precise. Yes, some people outside the Varia _did_ know what she looked like, but those people didn't know she was his Cloud Guardian, which was something that _would_ get picked up on by some people if he took her to a Vongola Event, even if they never made it into the building. People would probably assume his Cloud Guardian was Varia –or if not Varia then still mafia of some kind– and that would further distract them from realising that his alleged civilian bit on the side was who he had bonded with.

Letting Luss loose on the clothes would probably be something he ended up regretting, but they'd look good and if he told his Sun that the plan was to go to a club after then the okama would take that into consideration when whipping up the outfits, while also keeping to the old fart's Stupid dress code.

God help him though; Luss would make them _match_. Xanxus _knew it._ Still, for getting out of the thrice-damned Valentine's Ball he would happily match Florrie for an evening somewhere semi-civilian.

At least they'd both have masks.

* * *

Boss was an ass, Squalo knew very well. Florrie had thankfully exorcised the Sky's shitty mood over the Valentine's Ball, but the result of _that_ was that Boss had ordered him to come along to the ball too as backup, which meant he had less than a week to get an outfit and a date in. Lessi was happy to be his date –being Don Scarlatti's daughter, she'd attended the ball several times before– but the outfit problem could only be solved by handing matters over to Luss, who could not be trusted not to go overboard when left unsupervised.

That Luss's reaction to Boss informing him that he had _four_ people to dress for a masquerade ball had been to squeal piercingly then vanish from the building had not been at all comforting; his return four hours later with a wad of sketches in a vaguely familiar hand and the demand that Squalo pick one did very little to assuage the Rain's very valid concerns.

"Asked Florrie?" Boss commented, leaning over Squalo's shoulder to look at the rough designs.

"She had all kinds of fun ideas," Luss agreed happily. "You don't get to choose, Boss-honey; she has a very clear idea of what she wants you to wear and you're going to look terrifying."

The Sky raised an eyebrow at 'terrifying' but let it slide. "Picture?" He asked as Squalo leafed through his options. They were nowhere near as bad as they could have been; there was an outfit pretending to be renaissance armour, one that looked like ice and snowflakes –Jack Frost to match his colouring– an actual dress in purple –the comment in brackets suggested a matching suit for his date and pointed out that cross-dressing at Carnival was genuinely traditional– and a getup that would make him look like a swan in a waistcoat.

Squalo had met swans at close range, so knew better than to think they were anything but feathered hellbeasts with good PR; birds were descended from dinosaurs and some of them _knew_ it.

Boss meanwhile was looking at the picture Luss had shoved at him and seemed to be half-listening to the Sun babble; Squalo had been listening too, in between looking at his own options, and it sounded like the Sky really was going to look terrifying, at least to regular trash. He liked Florrie more for deciding that Boss should dress up like one of the old forest gods, complete with deer skull mask and horns to match. She'd apparently based it on a cavalry uniform, which could be made formal enough for a party while also letting Boss keep his boots and wear slightly modified Varia trousers.

Flicking through his options again, Squalo noticed he'd missed one; static had stuck the thin pages together. Peeling them apart, he paused at the very steampunk cyborg in the Victorian waistcoat and suit that was a cross between what Primo's generation had worn and a gaslight fantasy. The jacket only had one sleeve, the other removed to reveal a brass gauntlet pretending to be a prosthetic arm –his left arm of course– and the mask followed the theme. The hair and that cape though… Squalo had visited Florrie a couple of times while on his medical leave and had got into talking about ancestry once, which had led to him mentioning that he was Canadian Metis on his mother's side, with about a third of his extended family in Canada identifying as _Mushkegowuk_ –which also got called Swampy Cree– and belonging to the Opaskwayak Nation.

He'd made a point of meeting some of those relatives while in Canada on Varia business a few times –family was family even if he didn't want to see his mother and his sister deserved to meet them too once she was older– and yes, a few of his relatives did favour traditional hair styles. He'd never done that himself though.

Canada was too far away for him to get hold of the proper things in time and that would be a subversion of Carnival anyway; Carnival was supposed to be 'come as you aren't' after all.

Then again, Nono's party wasn't exactly proper Carnival, was it? Don Vongola had banned such subversions by insisting on a formal dress code for his rich guests and making it a private event rather than a street party open to all and he frowned on people rebelling against the social order anyway.

Squalo honestly rather liked the idea of reminding people that despite being born and raised Superbi, that wasn't all he was. Old Soave family stories claimed one of his French ancestors had married a winter spirit he'd met in the Canadian woods back in the mid-eighteenth century –hence the persistently pale colouring on that side of the family– which had more recently made him wonder if Snow Woman had been something along the lines of what Kawahira was or the Giglio Nero had been. And whether she might be still around somewhere.

He'd been given gifts by his relatives when he visited; he couldn't remember what they all were, but he could check. Maybe make a few phone calls and see how fast a package could be couriered from central Canada too, just in case.

"This one, voi," he told Luss shortly, handing the sketch over. "I'll do my own accessorising."

"Of course Squ," the Sun said, easily catching the subtext as he glanced down at the page. "Let me know if you want me to do anything particular."

Squalo nodded and made himself scarce; where had he put those presents again?

* * *

Tragically, the Valentine's Masquerade Ball did not have a footwear policy for women. Xanxus however suspected that the solstice balls _did_ , so there would be future opportunities to get himself out such events for completely legitimate reasons. He also didn't mind his outfit as much as he might have; the deer skull mask had made Security do a subtle double-take and Luss had gone to some effort to tailor his outfit to place him firmly in the uncanny valley, so most of the people already in the ballroom were making a point of not looking at him.

That had apparently been Florrie's idea and he appreciated it massively. Besides, well… it was actually kind of fun to be dressed as something out of a Gothic faerie nightmare, complete with genuine spiderwebs and lichens hanging off his tarnished-looking faux armour and not one single millimetre of his skin showing. With his Flames suppressed as well, this was about as anonymous as he could get.

His friend was equally invisible under her own outfit, but her mask was patterned after a bird skull and featured a feathered cowl hiding her hair completely, her dress was slightly asymmetrical in several shades of dusky iridescent silks and she had a cape of living ivy curled around her shoulders, rooted in a Mist-hidden waterproof pocket and freshly watered.

Shark meanwhile was a steampunk First Nations cyborg –a good look on him actually– and Sumu matched as a Victorian gentlewoman complete with top hat, her feathered _Colombina_ mask more token than the rest of the group and showing off that yes, she did in fact possess a mouth and chin. His and Florrie's masks kept their own jaws well hidden, between the beak on hers and the muzzle of his.

Pausing by the drinks table, Xanxus nudged Florrie gently with his forearm as he handed her a glass of water. Her mask tilted up towards his own.

"Ready?" He asked quietly, conscious of potential watchers for all that people were making an effort _not_ to look his way. Uncanny valley clothing was something he'd have to get Luss to do again.

Her mask dipped in a nod. "Do you know any funny stories about the people here already?" his friend and Cloud Guardian asked curiously, resting her hand on his forearm and turning to face the room as she lifted her glass up under the front of her mask.

Xanxus grinned inside his mask at the question. "Oh yes," he purred, letting out a thin tendril of Flames through the point where her glove touched his gauntlet and setting about coaxing her body's thermostat a little higher. He was keeping his Flames firmly suppressed to make it harder for people to pick him out at a distance –bad enough that he was tall enough to be almost unmistakeable, although Squalo having all his hair up made _him_ much less conspicuous than usual– and to make it harder for the old fart to realise they'd left once they made their escape.

"I know _all_ kinds of stories. See the man in the blue over there? Short, with the cat half-mask?"

"Everybody's short to you," Florrie retorted, "but yes, I see him. The black and gold cat mask?"

"Yes; that's Don Superbi. His wife proposed to him rather than the other way around; he was taking things slow and not wanting to rush her, but she decided he was being _too_ slow and popped the question first, complete with a nice ring; it's on the same finger as his wedding ring."

His friend chuckled; Xanxus coaxed her temperature a little higher still. "That is a funny story; where did you hear it?"

"Grandma told me," Xanxus admitted softly. "She had dirt on everybody. The man with him also in blue with the _bauta_ is his uncle Delfino, shark's grandfather. He grew up with the old fart and used to do sabotage work for Grandma after she retired from being Donna and got into behind the scenes stuff. Grandma had a photo of him looking very convincing in a fifties dress complete with heels and a hat."

That won him a giggle from Florrie and a snort from Sumu; shark huffed quietly but did not contradict the tale, which implied he'd heard it before.

"Squalo, Delfino; I'm sensing a theme," Florrie commented.

"Entire Superbi Family," Xanxus confirmed cheerfully. "Don is Leone, Heir is Pantera –think his father will be handing the business on to him in the next few years– Don's brother is Tigre and is married to a distant cousin called Renna, whose siblings are called Gazzella and Uro."

Florrie giggled again, the sound muffled by her mask as she swayed ever so slightly. Xanxus was very sure that she was running a significant fever now; he was impressed she was still standing and coherent. "An entire menagerie of relatives."

"You know, I've never heard that one before," Squalo retorted, tone desert dry.

The soft giggles continued; Xanxus suspected the fever was to blame there, considering how she was leaning into him now.

"Guy in the black and white harlequin suit and matching mask is Don Mauro Visconti," the shark continued, picking up the thread, "and the woman in the matching dress is his twin sister and Donna; their respective spouses don't care for this kind of thing. Mauro once lost a bet with his sister and her friends as a teenager and dressed as her for a week in school, with her wearing his clothes in turn; none of the teachers noticed."

Xanxus hadn't known that one; going by Sumu's startled cough, she hadn't either.

Florrie then stepped towards the table, arm outstretched to set her empty glass down, and collapsed as her knees gave way; Xanxus only just managed to catch her before she joined the dropped glass on the floor.

"Sir, might I offer assistance?"

The Varia Boss ignored the abrupt appearance of the waiter, moving his now barely conscious friend into a princess carry and letting Sumu press her bare fingers under the bird-skull mask to check pulse and temperature; neither he nor Florrie had mentioned this plan to anybody else. Probably an oversight; shark would shout at him later.

"She's running a very high temperature," the Cloud Officer said aloud, her tone flat in a way that indicated concern. "Possibly that flu that's been going around?"

Xanxus turned towards the ballroom door, Florrie somewhat more conscious now she was horizontal but breathing in a very slow and deliberate manner that indicated distress; he instantly set about bringing her body temperature back down towards normal.

"Home," he said shortly, nodding at Squalo who took his cue and strode on ahead to clear a path.

They would be going back to the Varia for long enough for Luss to check that Florrie hadn't been harmed by her brief overheating, but afterwards Xanxus had a club in mind and was looking forwards to an anonymous evening out on the town with his friend.

As Florrie had said, if you were going to bother to dress up you might as well enjoy it. And looking like he'd stepped out of a ghost story was something Xanxus was looking forward to getting a _lot_ of mileage out of before morning.

* * *

As Florrie had collapsed Squalo had instantly slipped into professional mode; had she been poisoned? Injured? Was she having an allergic reaction? Lessi's comment a few seconds later that the Cloud had a fever had sent a thrill of panic up the Rain's spine, because the most likely flu she could have picked up was the Flame-resistant one that had been going around the Varia. But Boss wouldn't have visited until Luss said he was no longer contagious! Could she have picked it up off Bester or had the Sun been wrong?

Boss ordering him to clear a path to the exit and get the car had been welcome direction and purpose, although seeing his fellow Guardian slumped in their Sky's arms and hearing her overly deliberate breathing through the mask was still extremely worrying.

Clearing a path through the trash barely took minutes; fetching the car took slightly longer and once he'd driven it up to the doors Boss had him get out and let Lessi drive. Seeing as his fellow Officer had both her hands and the Cloud-augmented reflexes to allow for seriously high-speed driving, Squalo complied and helped his Sky load Florrie into the back of the car.

"Warn you," his fellow Guardian muttered hoarsely, "probably gonna be sick."

"Be fine," Boss said shortly, tilting his mask back as he got into the car and then removing it entirely once he'd closed the door behind him, resting it on the parcel shelf behind them. He then rolled the now-shivering Cloud over onto her side and took her mask off too, stroking her hair away from clammy skin. "Car's had worse."

This was one of the Varia's nicer vehicles, but Boss was right that it'd still seen its fair share of gore and mess. Squalo belted himself in and planted a hand on the seat in front of Florrie's hip, so she wouldn't go flying once they hit the main road and Lessi could put her foot down.

"Think it's the flu, Boss?" He asked quietly.

The Sky shook his head then turned to look Squalo in the eye; the Rain Officer stiffened. He knew that expression!

"Voi, what did you _do_?!"

"He wanted to get out of the party," Florrie said shortly from where she was curled up on her side, her eyes screwed up and one arm gripping the edge of the seat, "so I offered to play damsel."

"Not sick," Boss confirmed, tugging off a glove and placing his palm flat on the prone Cloud's neck; she immediately sighed in relief. "Induced a fever." The faint flare of Flames sinking into Florrie's upper nervous system said very clearly how that had been achieved; Boss had been fiddling with her body's thermostat.

"Voi, you could have _warned_ me!" Squalo complained, voice loud in relief. Not ill, thankfully, but his Sky was an _ass_ for not telling him about this beforehand.

"Does this make getting back to the Varia less urgent?" Lessi asked shortly from the front seat.

"Do want Luss to look her over," Boss admitted, eyes dropping back to the shivering Cloud. "Don't want her getting exposure or developing complications."

The car jerked around a corner; clearly Lessi was taking out her own abruptly relieved nerves on the road.

"So we got all dressed up for less than five minutes of actual stage time?" Squalo grumbled. All that effort and submitting to the okama's theatrical inclinations for half an hour before setting out and it turned out to be for nothing, seriously?

"Taking Florrie clubbing," Boss said, watching his Cloud's face attentively as her colour gradually improved. "Provided Luss gives her the go-ahead."

Oh so Boss _did_ have a plan in mind beyond getting out of the shitty ball; good to know. "I'm coming," Squalo said flatly; he liked this outfit more than he'd thought he would –had gotten invested in it when he dug out those proper traditional accessories his relatives had given him– and he wanted to get some mileage out of it.

Boss shrugged, which was invitation enough. Squalo could –grudgingly– admit it had been a damn good plan; he'd have liked it better if he'd been warned beforehand though. Getting out of the shitty ball before it even started properly and heading out for a night on the town at the front end of Carnival, complete with an outfit that heavily obscured his identity? There was so _much_ fun that could be had with that.

Especially since Boss would be coming too, dressed up like the leader of the Wild Hunt. He'd have to grab a camera while Luss was looking Florrie over, to properly document his Sky freaking out the civvies.

And photograph Boss dancing with his Cloud Guardian, of course; costumes aside, Mammon would definitely want physical evidence that had really happened and so would Luss. For different reasons, that was.

* * *

"Aaah! _Cazzo_!"

Xanxus smirked inside his mask as the terrified trash slammed into a wall trying to run away from him; his costume probably looked even eerier in the dingy corridor connecting the club floor to the toilets. Of course it had nothing to do with him having used his Flames to illuminate his irises, so they glowed red in the depths of his deer skull mask's eyesockets; would he do that?

The Varia Boss snorted softly as he opened the door, tilting the mask slightly as a glassy-eyed civvie stared up at him, jaw sagging. This trash was drugged; the smell was distinctive. Had been only smoking marijuana rather than anything harder, which was something at least. Palermo was a mess that no single group had any real control over but marijuana was pretty much harmless compared to some of the other shit that got smuggled in and through. The Vongola Alliance didn't traffic drugs –well not illegal intoxicants at least– and generally made an effort not to do business with organisations that did, but the Varia had ended its fair share of drug-smuggling operations –mostly abroad– and looted what remained for weapons, money and anything else not firmly nailed down but worth something somewhere.

The stoner went on staring as Xanxus slid smoothly past him, ducking low to get his head and horned mask under the door jamb, and entered one of the cubicles. As he flicked the lock the Varia Boss heard the external door open and close again; he wondered whether or not that one would think he'd been hallucinating when he looked back on this evening in the sober light of morning.

It was a highly amusing thought.

* * *

Of course the next day he got a call from the old fart.

"Why were you not at last night's ball, Xanxus?"

"Was there," the Varia Boss contradicted evenly, flipping his pen like a knife and fantasising about stabbing somebody with it; "my date fainted so I took her home." And then took her out again afterwards; they'd danced until four in the morning and freaked out a whole lot of variously drunk civvies with their outfits. It had been great and shark had enjoyed himself too.

A pause. "Ah yes; Visconti did mention that," the old fart said vaguely. Xanxus smirked, easily picking up on the unspoken 'I didn't realise that was you;' his and Florrie's plan had gone without a hitch. "I trust it was nothing serious?"

"Mostly recovered now," the Varia Boss countered, deliberately implying that it had been a twenty-four-hour bug of some kind rather than flu. "Anything else? Got a meeting." With Florrie, to take her riding again; he'd initially planned it for Valentine's, but preparing for the ball had meant putting it off for a day.

"Not right now," the old fart said calmly; Xanxus cut off whatever else might have followed with a curt,

"Another time then," and hung up. Then he grabbed his jacket and hurried out of the office before the manipulative scum could talk his way through the Varia switchboard again.

Why waste time and energy ruining his own mood by having to hear the old fart jaw in his general direction when he could be out having fun with his friend and Cloud, who actually listened to _him_ and cared about him as a person?

* * *

Xanxus ran his fingers over his right forearm, taking careful note of the places where his skin was no longer angry red and slightly rough. In the starkly bright bathroom light he could see that some scarring still remained, but it was white and faint like an old graze. It was a vast improvement on the oversensitive redness that had been there six weeks ago, although Xanxus wasn't sure why the new and healthy skin was spattered with freckles; had he accidentally triggered localised melanin overproduction somehow?

Well whatever had happened there, he _had_ managed to significantly mitigate the scarring through a creative Harmony application, so it was time to take his findings to Lussuria so the Sun could help him continue the process on the rest of his body. Maybe Luss would be able to tell him what he'd done wrong to make himself freckle? Xanxus had never developed freckles before –he tanned, or at least he had done before getting frozen– so he was a little bit puzzled by that.

Luss would probably be keen to figure out other useful medical things Harmony could be applied to; Xanxus had a few ideas concerning auto-immune disorders and how they could be mitigated –or induced; he was an assassin after all– and the intriguing possibility of ensuring that no Varia ever had to deal with hayfever ever again. Allergies were after all the immune system being buggy and over-reacting to harmless junk in the air.

He'd have to experiment there, but the Varia Boss was certain he'd have no shortage of volunteers.

* * *

"Boss-honey."

Xanxus met the okama's reproachful gaze blankly. What was the problem? He'd had an idea, tested it safely and now he had results he was seeking help from a professional.

His Sun Officer clearly followed his line of thought without any difficulty, sighing and removing his tinted spectacles so as to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Cupcake, you made me responsible for the physical health of everybody in the building; that _includes_ you. Yes, I'm delighted that you've discovered a way to minimise scarring even well after the injury was incurred, but I'm upset you didn't come to me with the idea _first_ , so that we could discuss it and I could supervise and document your efforts right from the start. That's what I'm _here_ for, honey." Luss pouted at him soulfully. "I just want to take care of you, sugar lump. Why won't you let me?"

Xanxus almost had to bite his tongue in order to keep himself from saying, 'I don't think I'm worth taking care of.' Where had that come from?

Oh right; therapy meant exploring the motivations for unhealthy behaviours and articulating things. He'd got a lot of practice doing that with Florrie since last summer and clearly it had turned into a habit to the point that his brain went on doing it in the background. On the one hand, great; on the other, now he had to face up to the fact his self-image was shit.

He eyed his Sun Officer, who had very clearly divined that something was afoot but wasn't asking. Luss wouldn't ask, because for all his fluttering the Sun had very clear views about everybody's right to boundaries in matters emotional and mental. He was a bit fuzzier on physical boundaries –especially when you were injured– but generally speaking, if you were well enough to push him away you were well enough to be left to your own devices thereafter, provided you were a good patient and looked after your injuries.

Florrie had once asked him, 'if I won't look after myself how can I ever care for anybody else?' and on another occasion had scolded him for being dismissive of his progress in processing things, stating that he was her friend and she didn't let people talk about her friends like that.

It was uncomfortable to realise that the only reason he and Lussuria hadn't bonded properly yet –hadn't developed a full-on Guardian bond– was that the Sun wanted to look after him but Xanxus did not believe himself worth taking care of.

Florrie thought he was worth looking after. Florrie went to considerable effort to feed him, keep him hydrated, offer him use of her shower after he helped her out on the farm, let him sit or lounge wherever and hugged him when he was struggling with his issues. She hugged him for other reasons too –like her wanting to be hugged or as thanks for something– but whenever he was having a rough patch she was meticulous about asking if he wanted hugs, because she cared about him and wanted him to feel comfortable.

Florrie would want him to be responsible about his health even when she wasn't there, like he wanted her to be responsible about _her_ health even when _he_ wasn't there. Which she wasn't, not reliably; he'd showed up a couple of times early on in their friendship to find she'd injured herself –never seriously, thankfully– while attempting something that she'd not been quite strong enough to do by herself or that had flat-out _required_ more people to achieve successfully.

He'd been angry at her for being that Dumb and made no bones about it, all but ordering her to ask him to help her; they were friends, it was no trouble and _much_ better than showing up to visit and finding she'd hurt herself! Florrie had huffed and grumbled, but she _had_ started putting off those jobs until he was there to help her. Mostly.

If Florrie found out about this she'd probably be horrified he was being so cavalier with his health; if she'd done something like this he _certainly_ would have been angry with her for not taking the matter to a professional first.

Double standards were hypocritical and Xanxus disliked intensely that he had been unwittingly harbouring several.

Luss was still watching him.

"The old fart always scolded me for getting injured," Xanxus said eventually, because it was true, "and Vongola Medical always tattled to him."

"So you dealt with things yourself," the Sun murmured, a muscle twitching in his neck as his Flames roiled; Luss had Views about medical confidentiality, one of which was that it was owed to patients unless the patient was being actively suicidal and not recognising it.

The Varia Boss ducked his head in agreement. "My mother too;" he took a steadying breath, "Ma couldn't afford anything fancier than rubbing alcohol and medical tape, and she worried too much." He'd felt guilty for making her worry about him and felt more guilty for making her spend what limited money they had on things that weren't food or rent, so he'd learned to hide his injuries or treat them himself before going home; alcohol was alcohol after all and folded paper tissues worked fine as temporary dressings. Soap and water worked well enough if he lacked even that.

Lussuria nodded, turned to his clipboard and slipped his sunglasses back on. "The theory is sound and it clearly works Boss-honey," he said brightly, "but I'm not going to be able to work out what caused the freckling until I've observed the process in action. So how about you show me on your other arm and then we can see what kind of adjustments might be necessary to get it to work in other areas, all right treasure?"

Xanxus nodded, intensely grateful that his Sun had let the more personal side of the discussion drop for the time being, and rolled up his other sleeve to reveal a few more scars. He needed to get used to Luss seeing more of him –scars included– because this was going to be a long process, made longer by needing to experiment somewhat to refine things and figure out where the freckles had come from.

* * *

It was March and Xanxus had already fitted the Officers' trip to Japan into the plane's flight schedule around a couple of actual missions so that Mammon wouldn't complain too much –it was just going to be himself, the shark, Luss and Bel this time, since the miser wasn't bothered and Sumu had a set of missions come up she'd been rather looking forward to– and had taken a couple of shot solo missions recently, purely because he could and he'd wanted to.

It had been a good few weeks; the old fart wasn't badgering him, Florrie was engrossed in sowing seeds in her vegetable garden and nurturing less hardy plants in trays on her various windowsills, as well as feeding the trees, vines and fruit bushes with mulch. Xanxus had helped out here and there; there'd been plenty of time and space for talking during and in between tasks, and one very wet day he'd spent the entire morning sprawled on the sofa with her, listening quietly as she meandered her way through a painful problem that a recent phone-call to family had brought to the surface.

"There are things you just can't talk about, you know?" his friend had said helplessly. "Things you tried to talk about once, but you got cut off and shut out for having the audacity to even _mention_ them and it took _years_ for your transgression to be set aside, so now you just don't go there anymore because it's less painful. You can see it's a problem, but they won't recognise it as a thing that needs addressing for whatever reason so you have to work around it and it's _tiresome_. Because from an outside perspective it would just be so much easier to _deal_ with the thing, but they won't even admit that the thing _exists_ , let alone is a problem."

Xanxus did know. He was living it right now with Vongola succession drama and yes, it really was that Stupid and tiresome. But as Florrie said, trying to address the actual issue hadn't got him anywhere so now he was stuck circumventing it as best he could.

"And those same people have _views_ on what you should be doing with your life and it's all you can do sometimes to bite your tongue, because their priorities are so offside of yours that you just want to tell them that you _don't care_ about any of those things they think are the be-all and end-all," Florrie went on, waving a hand expressively. "But you can't say that because they'll either take offense or decide you're being _difficult_ and _unrealistic_ and condescend about how you really need to grow up and live in the real world and you can't face sitting through that. And you still love them despite how awkward and pushy they are and it's just easier to make vague agreeing noises and let them think whatever, then get on with your own life once they've left you alone." She sighed. "And sometimes they really, really hurt you and you can tell it wasn't deliberate or meant to be anything but kind, but it still hurts and you want to finish the conversation quickly so you can walk away and cry."

Xanxus reached over and tugged his friend into his lap for a hug. "Did they make you cry?" He asked gently, nuzzling her hair.

Florrie leaned into him, her fingers tugging at his open jacket. "It wasn't at all on purpose, Xanxus," she murmured, sounding terribly tired and sad all of a sudden. "They want me to be successful; they just don't understand that I don't _want_ the high-flying career they've got. That I don't want to spend my life either at work, networking for work or making myself more employable. I want a life and a family and to do fun things and for that I just need a job, not a career. I'm going to university because the course I picked looked _fun_ , not because it's going to net me connections that will funnel me into a fancy career climbing the greasy pole. Yes, university's expensive but my grandma invested a chunk of money for me five years ago and there's enough to pay for a Bachelors course and a good bit left over besides, so it's not like I'm getting into debt either. I just, this is what I _want_ to do so can't they be happy for me?" She sniffed.

Xanxus rubbed her back comfortingly as she slumped into him, her shoulders shuddering ever so slightly as she sobbed against his chest. He wanted to get the name of whichever obliviously well-meaning relative had hit his friend's sore spots so accurately and so hard –who gave a fuck whether it was on purpose, they'd _hurt_ her and they damn well should have _noticed_ even over the phone– hunt them down and terrorise the trash into never doing it again, but that was wishful thinking. Florrie would be even more upset if he did that, so he shouldn't.

"Why can't they just accept me?" she mumbled between sobs. "Why do they have to keep on making me feel like I'm not good enough? That I'm not doing enough? That I'm _never_ going to be good enough, because I'm _never_ going to capable of that kind of workload and social focus?"

"Narrow-minded trash can't see that other people are different to them," Xanxus told her firmly, pulling her closer and holding her tight. "You have your own skills and talents and they could never do what you do. Never. You're strong and cunning and practical and brilliant with numbers and patterns, you're unflinchingly honest with yourself and you're kind. I love how kind you are; I know you really work at it and I am in _awe_ because being kind is _hard_." It was the hardest thing, seriously. Xanxus knew he was crap at it; he only managed to be as kind to Florrie as he was because she'd started it by being kind to him first. He wasn't kind with anybody else.

"Everything already hurts," his friend whispered. "Why make it worse? It hurts a little less when you're kind."

"Hurts them less maybe," Xanxus muttered cynically.

"Nobody's going to be kind if I'm not kind first," Florrie countered, sniffing and fumbling for a tissue. "If they see my kindness as weakness then more fool them."

"Still hurt you though."

"Only because I for some reason take their opinions to heart," his friend said, pausing to blow her nose. "If I was confident enough to ignore their stupid opinions as irrelevant it wouldn't be a problem."

Xanxus chuckled wryly; she wasn't wrong there, but succeeding was another matter entirely. "Something to aim for?" He suggested.

"It's a good goal," Florrie agreed, tossing the used tissue into the waste paper basket and pulling out another one to dab at the tears streaking her face. "It will make me happier if I don't care what people who don't understand think."

"Mm-hm," Xanxus agreed, slumping into the sofa back; if he could get himself to not care what the old fart and his shitty Guardians thought then he'd probably be happier too.

Florrie shifted around then settled in his lap again, her back leaning against his chest and her head tilting up against his shoulder, her free hand reaching across to wrap around his fingers, sliding against his rings. "You're really strong, you know that? You know who you are and what you want, and you're still here," she murmured. "It's really inspiring."

Xanxus snorted quietly and shifted his head to rest against hers. "It's mostly spite," he admitted candidly.

"Well, if it works," Florrie pointed out, a thread of amusement in her tone.

He chuckled. "I suppose."

"You just have to keep an eye out for when spite isn't enough anymore," his friend mused, "and make sure you have other important things you want to go on for."

Xanxus kissed her hair. "Got you now." He meant it; she was his Guardian and he'd do things for her that he wouldn't do for himself. That was probably unhealthy, but rectifying it was something he would also do for her as much as for himself; she would want him to after all.

"What, do Squalo and the others not count?"

Xanxus poked his friend in the ribs with his free hand, making her squeak and squirm. "Course they do," he growled playfully, "but they run on spite too. You don't."

"What, even Lussuria?"

"Luss runs on spite even more than I do." Everything Luss did was to spite the people who'd shunned and despised him for identifying in a way they considered immoral. Sure, Luss could be kind and even caring but that wasn't who the Sun was; the spite kept him going _long_ after his patience and tolerance ran out. Which was not at all fun for whoever his patients were at the time; Xanxus knew better than to cross _that_ line, however much he toed it every now and then.

"Is it an Officer requirement then? 'Must run on spite?'"

Xanxus snorted again, unable to stifle the grin spreading across his face. "Varia-wide affliction; Quality isn't easy to achieve but we all do it anyway."

"Sticking it to everybody who insisted it was impossible?" His friend guessed perceptively.

"Among other things."

"Well, working through issues on spite works, I suppose," she mused. "It's certainly a great big middle finger to the people who stuck you with all that unwanted baggage in the first place; watch me disregard you and your ridiculous opinions completely, mwah ha har."

Sniggering quietly, Xanxus flopped sideways, dragging Florrie down with him and rolling onto his back. "You're an inspiration," he told her dryly.

"Thank you, I try." She wriggled around so she was lying on her front on top of him, elbows resting on his ribs and hands propping up her chin, bringing his hand that she was holding along for the ride. "Are we napping?"

"Yes."

"Okay then." She relaxed, closing her eyes and using her arms –and his– as a pillow, her legs curling up across his hip and thighs. Xanxus tucked his other arm behind his neck and closed his own eyes; he liked having Florrie's grounding weight on top of him and the steady patter of rain in the background was very soporific.

* * *

"My people want to meet you."

Florrie looked up from her patchwork. "Out of nosiness, wanting to vet me as being 'good enough' for you or what?"

Xanxus felt his lips twitch. "Mostly the first one." The Varia was full of people who had only got as far as they had by sticking their noses into everything; you couldn't be Quality if you lacked initiative.

His friend sighed. "Not every day and no more than a handful of people per visit, please, and make sure they know they're only welcome for a few hours at a time; I've got a lot of work to keep up with now it's spring and weeding waits for no man."

So one Squad per day maximum, no visiting on consecutive days or Sundays and mid-afternoon only, with no staying for meals; he could enforce that. Xanxus could also pick up on the subtext, which was that as a Cloud, his friend wasn't keen on strangers invading her Territory –a temporary Territory but still hers– with their assumptions and pre-conceived notions of how things should be.

Not everybody would be interested, but the Varia Boss was sure most of the Mists would stop by at least once and so would the Immortal Squads. The Storms were likely to by and large follow their Officer's example and ignore her, the Lightnings weren't hot on initiative so probably wouldn't visit either, a few Clouds would definitely stop by but most of them wouldn't –it was a Territory thing– and the Suns and Rains were a toss-up; specific individuals would make different choices.

Some Varia would visit out of curiosity, but others would visit because they were bored or simply because it was allowed now. Most of them wouldn't visit more than once, but there was a good chance some of them would decide they liked his Cloud and deliberately befriend her, or at least try to. It was common knowledge now that Luss and the shark liked their new fellow Guardian, Bel was agreeably indifferent and Mammon was actually paying her –and had been for months– which was an endorsement in itself; Sumu liked her too and had said as much. With the Officers in her corner nobody was going to start shit, even if Xanxus wasn't there to immediately enforce consequences. If they were smart they'd have realised by now that Mammon was keeping tabs on her, if only to ensure that their data-minion remained undisturbed.

Considering he was going to Japan at the end of the week, that was a good thing. Florrie being Latent was also a good thing; the Vongola had specific rules in place for the appropriately courteous treatment of Latents by Actives within the Family. If his Cloud had been Active she'd be expected to be able to defend herself, but she wasn't –she was a civilian– so everybody had to be polite and not play tricks on her. Or else.

Xanxus wasn't expecting anybody to flout that rule, but if they did he was sure they'd get jumped on very promptly by their fellow assassins; the less Dumb ones would _not_ want him getting on their case for standing by and watching as his Guardian got harassed.


	6. Chapter 6

My information on psychological trauma and complex post-traumatic stress disorder and their effects comes primarily from the relevant wikipedia pages, although I do have a measure of personal experience as well due to not being neurotypical.

* * *

 **Pick up the pieces (and take stock)**

Thankfully what looked like rain clouds overhead didn't pour on them as they were getting off the plane in Namimori, but it was evident that it certainly could happen at any moment if the weather didn't move on; they had landed sometime around two in the afternoon local time and the difference in temperature from Sicily was evident. If it was more than ten degrees Celsius then Squalo would be surprised; chilly for early March, for all it was the day before his birthday.

Boss actually drove their rented vehicle for once, despite making Squalo do the paperwork for it; Squalo wouldn't trust Bel behind the wheel, Luss could drive but no one sane wanted him to because Luss had quite the record of trashing vehicles not made to handle how Suns –and Clouds– tended to drive and therefore the swordsman had to deal with being stuck in the back seat with Bel, trying to not murder his fellow Officer or end up with the back of the vehicle covered with knives and slashes. The promise of sushi at least kept Bel well-behaved on the way to Namimori –meaning his knives stayed in his hands and were not embedded in car leather– as the small town didn't have an actual airfield within city limits.

Sure, they'd only be in Namimori for about fifty hours total, but that was more than enough time for Squalo to fit in a day of sparring and some shopping; not just for himself –his tea stash was rather depleted after his bout of flu– but for Luss' birthday on the fourth of April and maybe something for Delfina as well, as her birthday was the twenty-fifth. His sister was easy to shop for; Luss on the other hand was stupidly difficult unless buying something for one of his various hobbies, which Squalo felt was a cop-out.

Checking into the hotel was delegated to Luss, so once the key cards were obtained and their luggage moved into their rooms the Officers pretty much scattered to do their own things. Boss stayed inside, which wasn't surprising as he was clearly looking for bugs and the like; it wasn't the same room as the last time and a completely different hotel to the one they had stayed in on previous, more official visits to Namimori but it paid to be careful, especially with Reborn having been in Namimori for years now. Other organisations could also bug local hotel rooms in the hopes of picking up Vongola inside information, no matter how unlikely it seemed.

Luss fussed about, doing inventory of what was in the suites while doing a quality check of the furnishings –whether there were enough towels and so on– and Bel flat out disappeared the moment he'd dumped his go-bag, which was never a good sign as it implied that Prince the Ripper was up to no good, of the 'what do you mean, we don't know how many bodies yet?' variety. Then again, the wayward menace could just as easily be stuffing his face at the restaurant. Unless he was hunting down the Mist-brat from the fake-future; Tyrant was seeing to the brat's apprentice education by post at present –brat was ten– but Squalo was sure the baby Mist would ditch Chew Toy's contingent in a few years time and join the Varia proper, just as soon as he wouldn't be the youngest person in the building. The only way the brat could have ended up in the Varia in the fake future was through clear pre-existing ambitions, considerable skill and relentless drive, so there was no doubt he'd end up in their ranks for real given time.

Sharing a glance with both Boss and Luss followed by an uncaring shrug from them both, Squalo let them have their privacy and left the suite. He didn't know what they were going to talk about once he was gone but it was probably something Medical-related and possibly connected to Boss's physical health, since Florrie had been working miracles on Boss' mental health recently. Mental and physical health tied into each other, so at least Boss was doing something constructive about his problems there; Squalo still felt that things were going a little too smoothly though. That wasn't just pessimism speaking, but over a decade of experience watching and leading the nutjobs that made up the Varia and how they tried to make themselves less broken in the name of pursing Quality. Boss hadn't had smooth sailing, but the setbacks so far seemed to have been pretty minor, bar the occasional bit of teenage over-dramatics. Well, that Squalo had noticed at least; Boss was good at hiding personal shit.

The Rain Officer left the hotel lobby and set out in a random direction for a stroll, noting absently that the more upscale area of Namimori they were in might have something for his sister, provided he was willing to browse the shops at this point. He wasn't, having been on the plane for longer than he would have liked as a few squads had embarked and disembarked at a couple of different airports along the way. The Varia Officers might have their own cabin on the plane but it wasn't large enough to walk more than a few meters in, so he was stretching his legs and re-acquainting himself with the area, as he hadn't done since the mess that cost him his original heart.

Then somebody stepped out of a grocery store and almost rammed into him.

"Vooi! Watch–" Squalo spun and paused; first of all that was _not_ a Japanese face; secondly he recognised it. "Poison Scorpion?" He asked in Italian.

The pink-haired teenager scowled at him. "Watch where you're going! I almost dropped my ingredients!"

"You walked into _me_!" Squalo retorted.

The girl sniffed and stuck her nose in the air. "What are you doing here anyway, Squalo Superbi?"

"Sparring with Yamamoto Tsuyoshi," the Rain Officer drawled, keeping a weather eye on the bags of food hanging from her hands. Cecilia Bianchi had been dubbed 'the Poison Scorpion' due to her Flame-talent for turning perfectly good food lethal; proximity was enough. The hitwoman was Active but didn't use her Flames at all except in her cooking, leading Squalo to suspect she didn't actually _know_ she was Active or that her special ability was Flame-related. Considering her father was an Alliance Don, it was fairly suspicious. "You?"

The teen beamed, her expression utterly besotted. "I'm supporting my lover, Reborn, while he tutors the Vongola Decimo."

Squalo felt all the hair on the back of his neck stand up; Poison Scorpion was five years younger than he and Bronco were, making her nineteen. Reborn, according to the miser, had been thirty-two when they'd all been Cursed back in nineteen-seventy-six. Yes, the hitman had then had his memories modified, but even if you then took his 'birth' as the date of the Curse he was still thirty-one. Technically the Sun Arcobaleno was sixty-three, a decade younger than Nono was.

The Rain Officer knew the Poison Scorpion had been declaring herself madly in love with Reborn for at _least_ four years now, since she'd attempted to murder Bronco back in his final year of being tutored by the Sun Arcobaleno for 'trying to take her beloved away from her!' or at least that had been what Dino had said at the time. She'd been fifteen then; Squalo had rolled his eyes and dismissed it as a silly crush at the time, but clearly it was considerably worse than that.

Physically Reborn had been two then; he was still a pre-schooler now. Yet Poison Scorpion was declaring herself romantically attracted and calling herself the hitman's lover, a blatantly sexual term? Squalo rather wanted to run away instead of dealing with this level of crazy.

But he couldn't, because he was a Varia Officer and Quality and it would be pathetic.

"How long've you been in Namimori now, voi?" he asked instead, turning and falling into step beside the teenager as she set off down the road, presumably back to the Sawada household; it was in this direction.

"Three years," she said airily, confirming that yes, she'd been sixteen and Reborn had been encouraging her delusions for far _too_ long. "Reborn and I took hits together for almost a year before that and I've known him since we were children together."

Squalo fitted that into his own knowledge of the Sun Arcobaleno's activities –he'd stopped actively tutoring Bronco a month or so after horse had turned twenty despite the occasional visit thereafter– and felt his stomach roil queasily at the realisation that Reborn had been letting this nutcase tell everybody they were lovers since she was _fifteen_. The hell had the hitman been _doing_ with her?!

"Not been home since?" He fished.

"Oh no, I've been far too busy."

"Not met your little sister yet then, voi." Don Bianchi had announced the birth of his youngest about three years ago, shortly before Reborn got dispatched to Namimori; the timing was about right for the teenager to have left home to become a hitwoman either just before or just after her stepmother got pregnant.

Considering her specialisation and that past Varia observation implied Poison Scorpion was unaware that _all_ her cooking was toxic, it was entirely possible that her father had 'encouraged' her to leave home so she didn't accidentally give her stepmother a miscarriage. Which implied in turn that Donna Bianchi had miscarried before as a result of eating her stepdaughter's cooking; possibly more than once. The whole mess was a textbook example of why it was important to educate _all_ the Flame-Actives in a Family, not just the ones the Don wanted taught. Also that Don Bianchi had _seriously_ warped priorities, but that wasn't relevant right now.

Don Bianchi's first wife had died when his daughter was two and he'd eventually quietly remarried –to his children's nanny– when his daughter was seven and his bastard son was three. Considering her other issues, it was entirely possible that Poison Scorpion didn't realise her ex-nanny and stepmother wasn't actually her biological parent; she probably hadn't put together that her nanny had only been thirteen when she was born –and was in fact the bastard daughter of one of her mother's uncles whom her mother had taken in a few years before marrying– fifteen when Don Bianchi made her fully responsible for raising his daughter and barely twenty when her employer married her a little over a decade back. Donna Bianchi was twenty years younger than her husband, in fact.

"No I haven't, but my parents sent me a card and I sent a cake for Agata's first birthday," Poison Scorpion said cheerfully, clearly unaware that the cake had probably been disposed of by a hazmat team. "She looks much more like Father than Hayato or I do; we both take after our mothers." The teenager sighed. "It was so _hard_ finding the right ingredients for a cake though! Namimori's not got at _all_ the kind of produce you need for proper baking."

"Only stocks what you need for local cookery?" Squalo guessed. That was a problem the entire Varia was extremely familiar with; even the basics like bread varied dramatically between countries, despite being made of the same type of grain.

"Exactly!" the pink-haired hitwoman complained, gesturing dramatically. "And really, it's the oddest things that you can't buy here! I couldn't find _any_ dried figs or the right kinds of nuts for Bucellato!"

"It's the same everywhere," Squalo sympathised, "unless it's somewhere with a large foreign population. I mean, it's not like there're places back home that stock Japanese ingredients is it?" Which was why food smuggling was so very popular among Varia.

"I suppose not," Poison Scorpion sighed, "but I _so_ wanted to make my darling Reborn a proper cake for Christmas! It's a lover's festival here and it's so _romantic_ so I thought I could make him a traditional cake to remind him of the good times we've had together, but there wasn't anywhere with proper figs so I had to make substitutions and improvise!" She sighed again, pouting. "And then that _idiot_ student of my darling's knocked it out of the window right before I could serve it! All my hard work wasted! I had to _buy_ a cake!"

Squalo suspected that Reborn had ensured the demise of that cake entirely on purpose. "Have you introduced the brat to much Italian cuisine yet?" he asked, wanting to change the subject _away_ from Poison Scorpion's obsession. He was getting the impression that her father had encouraged both her obsession and her ignorance in Flame matters in an attempt to orchestrate her death, since she was the current Heiress to the Bianchi Family and quite shockingly unsuited to the position.

If she was still alive in a decade's time Squalo would not be at all surprised if a discreet mission came through from her father, requesting an 'accident' be arranged so her half-sister could inherit without complications. Possibly 'just' a crippling accident –Don Bianchi had supposedly loved his first wife to distraction– but it would still ensure that his youngest daughter would be the only one of his offspring eligible to inherit. Although with his second wife being so much younger than he was, there was a decent chance she'd manage to give him a son in the next few years.

The teenager side-eyed him. "Why the interest?"

Squalo reminded himself that crazy-obsessed or not, nobody survived a year keeping up with Reborn on hits without being smart. "Like I said," he shrugged, "not like you can get the ingredients for Japanese food back home and he's going to have to move there soon enough. May as well get him used to the food first so he can appreciate it properly; has he ever eaten pasta that hasn't come out of a packet, voi?" Hand-made pasta could put a person off the shop-bought dried stuff for life and rightly so; the different in flavour and texture was significant.

Poison Scorpion looked horrified. "Oh _no_ I've been neglecting my responsibilities!" she wailed. "My beloved asked me to teach his student home economics and I've not taught him _anything_ about proper Italian cookery yet!" She turned around and dashed back towards the shops. "I have to buy more ingredients at _once_!"

Squalo stared after her for a second, then turned down a side-street so he could circle back around towards the hotel; well, that had been _exceedingly_ unsettling but would hopefully have the effect of keeping Squeaky Toy thoroughly preoccupied for the next few days and well away from Boss. The trash might not even find out the Varia were in town until after they'd left.

He desperately needed a drink though; would there be anywhere that sold alcohol open at this time of day?

* * *

Turned out that there was a tiny hole-in-the-wall teashop-cafe that was willing to sell a little bottle of alcohol alongside a small plate of dango to a foreigner in the middle of the afternoon, once he had explained to the frowning owner that he had received some bad news concerning a member of a family that his family had known for generations. Which wasn't quite the truth, but close enough that the baa-chan keeping a weathered eye on the cafe had banished her serving girl to the kitchen to keep her from prying, so Squalo was able to eat his dango in peace and come to terms with the fact that Poison Scorpion was further off her rocker than a lot of Varia, for all that it was a miracle she wasn't dead; Active Storms either learned control or died young and there was no doubt Cecilia Bianchi was Flame-Active for all her Flames felt odd.

Admittedly being crazy could do that to Flames, but he had a feeling that wasn't all of it.

Squalo made a note of the location of the obscure and more traditionally-styled cafe –in case he wanted to come back later– and decided that since he had a few hours free –they were due to meet up at Takesushi a bit before seven– he would do some shopping and see if he could find something suitable for Luss's birthday.

Two hours later he had refreshed his collection of teas and expanded it further, had managed to stumble across a pair of metal tessen in a pawn shop that just needed some refurbishment and a bit of work –the current cloth backing was stained and wouldn't suit his sister's colouring– and actually found something for Luss that wasn't fashion-related or some kind of craft material.

Carrying his shopping back up to the hotel room and stowing it away took a matter of minutes, so since he had the suite of rooms to himself Squalo made himself a cup of tea as he unpacked and examined all the things that had happened today and confirmed to himself that both Don Bianchi's elder children were deeply unsuited to become a Don or Donna. Poison Scorpion was crazy. Delusional, obsessive and some form of paedophile as well, for all that Reborn was at least mentally twice her age despite his memory adjustment when she started such behaviour; he had physically still been a toddler then and that was all kinds of creepy. Even if the attraction _wasn't_ sexual it was still profoundly inappropriate, and considering Reborn was letting her use sexual terminology there were unpleasant implications concerning what exactly lay between them.

On the other hand, Camillo Bianchi –Gokudera Hayato– besides being illegitimate did not have the sort of personality needed in an effective Don or any kind of leader; Vongola Guardians weren't allowed to become Alliance Dons, which while good for his Family was probably going to turn out badly for the Vongola. Chew Toy's Right Hand was an effective enough accountant and diverter of funds –based on what the Rain Officer could remember of the fake future– but did not really have what it took to be a respected leader within the Vongola, as that required social skills, some emotional awareness and tact. Smoking Bomb's fake-future self had been feared yes, because the Storm wasn't shy about making threats or following through with them as soon as Chew Toy was looking elsewhere, but not really respected for that or anything else. Having a highly customized and personalized box weapon and a personal training room complete with expensive virtual reality technology being finished in a remote underground base even before all the _plumbing_ was in place said enough about his priorities there; they weren't centred on the Family. Never mind the lack of defences around that particular base, the sheer size of the private training room and all the wasted space it had added, taking up more of the limited resources.

Unfortunately it was unlikely the Varia would ever get the request to accident 'Smoking Bomb,' despite it clearly being for the betterment of the Vongola. At least the tea blend he had been talked into buying was good, if a bit sweeter and more floral than he'd be comfortable drinking most days. Florrie or Luss would like it more than he would; he'd set it aside for when he visited or had guests.

Making tea was a calming ritual but he still finished off the second half of the small bottle of sake in the aftermath of dealing with the day's realisations, before realising he probably shouldn't have since sake tended to have more alcohol in it than wine. While the start of a buzz was nice it was also unprofessional, for all it meant he currently wasn't thinking about the impending disaster that was the Vongola Succession or any other related potential succession crises now. He downed the rest of his now-cold tea –it did taste better cold– then did the Flame-trick that helped to burn off alcohol faster. It meant he needed to piss after taking the long shower that was completely necessary after so long in a plane, which resulted in his hair dripping everywhere while taking care of business before he could wrangle it all into a towel to get most of the water out. He washed his hand, got his hair in order and got half-dressed, then dried up all the water on the floor with another towel. Once fully dressed in casual clothing he left the hotel and took a more roundabout walk to Takesushi. He still had time to kill and the clouds had passed over, leaving the sky clear and surprisingly bright despite the sun having just set.

Somehow Squalo wasn't surprised that his walk took him close by Namimori Middle School, which the Cloud was currently within from what he could sense. He still didn't know what Iemitsu and Nono had been thinking making the heir of the local power Chew Toy's Cloud Guardian. The Cloud Guardian traditionally had a longer leash, but it was expected that they would at least devote their time and energies to the Vongola or the protection of it and their Don by proxy, not ignore it in favour of their own projects. Skirting away from the school Squalo ended up in Namimori's local park, where it seemed that his part-time student was playing a pick-up game of baseball with a few others he suspected were part of the local baseball team along with whoever else they'd found willing to join in.

Settling down to watch the 'game' Squalo soon realized he knew shit-all about baseball, but he still suspected that both teams were short players. He did however notice that the younger Yamamoto was playing with members of that Famiglia that had mucked up the Inheritance Ceremony and had apparently manipulated by the ghost of Primo's Mist. He recognized the 'boss' of it, the red hair and Active Flames standing out amongst the civvies also in the game. Kid was good at using them for being self-taught, but being hopeless if he was unable to move his hands as Bel had proven nearly a year ago said he still had a long way to go. Lots of things could change in a year though; might not be so vulnerable anymore.

Kid had some strange Flames, as did the rest of his famiglia from what Squalo could tell personally and what he remembered from reports last year. Of course once he was noticed by the younger Yamamoto he couldn't just go on watching peacefully, as sword-brat tossed off a few excuses and made a beeline straight for him.

"Squalo-san! Did my father send you to get me? I hadn't realized it was that late..."

Squalo shrugged. "Figured we'd walk over together, voi." It wasn't seven yet and they were all off-duty, so 'meet a bit before seven' translated to 'we'll be sat down and started ordering by eight.' No rush.

"Alright! Let me get my equipment and things and say goodbye. Just a minute or so."

Squalo watched as Yamamoto made his excuses and avoided or deflected questions as he extracted himself from the game. He said something else to the redhead, something that eased the tension that had been building in his odd Flames since Yamamoto had drawn his attention to where Squalo was sitting. What was his name again? Emma of the Simon? Shimon possibly, although it depended on the pronunciation of the European surname that they went with. Was it even Emma? Enma? Surely no one would name their kid Enema... Whatever; Squalo offered a lazy wave to the other kids as his part-time student did so more enthusiastically and they started walking towards Takesushi. It'd only take fifteen minutes or so to get there at this speed and that was plenty of time to talk in.

Because Squalo could see that the other Rain had questions and concerns. Thankfully the streets were pretty empty, but it still wasn't that hard to muffle any potential sound around them with Flames. No need to be overconfident after all.

"Spit it out already, voi."

"We're all, Tsuna and Gokudera and all the rest of us aren't really as good at this mafia business as I remember thinking we were. The future we went to showed us that and while we stopped Byakuran we're not really as prepared as we think. Tsuna's future self just dumped Byakuran onto all of us without asking or warning or providing any details and that's not responsible. Dino was here after New Year explaining how the traditions went for various holidays and while we had fun roleplaying it wasn't done _right_ and no one really seems to care about our future in the Vongola or what we'll actually be doing for Tsuna."

"Told you they were blind."

"Chrome gets it."

"Of course the girl who timeshared her body and probably still shares headspace with the genocidal mass-murdering anarchist is the only one that sees the issue," Squalo groused. "Is Mukuro doing anything about that? Nooo, because it suits his plans to destroy the mafia. Has Chrome done anything voi?"

"She's tried to bring it up a few times and the only one who sort-of listened was Hibari."

Which suggested that the Cloud was smart enough to understand that there was political shit afoot and decided to go 'not my business.' Still, the girl was trying which implied she cared even if Mukuro didn't; that was _something._

"Well, Hibari was successful in his own establishment in that fake-future, which benefitted the Vongola." Hibari's Foundation had been superior in quality to the CEDEF by the ten-year mark because Iemitsu 'probably dead and not on a cruise with his much-ignored and therefore also probably dead wife' Sawada had thoroughly ruined the intelligence agency; never mind that the so-called Decimo had been more than willing to not give the CEDEF anything but misinformation out of spite for his dear old dad, although he'd been more passive-aggressive than actively destructive there. "People might grumble about it but international and global business are some of the few areas of active revenue growth in the Vongola Alliance."

"Like the Varia?" Sword-brat asked. Never let it be said that the kid wasn't sharp.

"Killers make a killing." It didn't look like as much as it was in the books or the cash-flow because a lot of it was tied up in investments, but the Varia and everyone in it was very comfortably off; not everybody paid them in cash.

"That's..."

"The way the world and society is. People have had crime for as long as society has existed. Most murders in the world are committed by people who know each other, voi. Same thing for assault, rape and theft. The Varia makes more money off of accidents or 'natural causes' than clear murder or assassination because any skilled freelancer can do the latter but both accidents and 'natural causes' need to be able to fool the people doing an investigation. Especially if someone clearly benefits from that person dying." Or disappearing, but that came with its own share of complications.

"Ah. That's..."

"A lot of things: how the Varia makes a lot of profit despite considerable expenses; a fact of life; evidence your dad did a great job raising you in a town protected by a murderer that you go to school with."

"Hibari?"

"Hibari. Unlike the rest of you lot, he's well and truly blooded." And had been even before Reborn showed up. "Any other questions?"

Sword-brat was quiet for a minute as they walked. "Do you think that Chrome and I could visit Dino for part of the summer and meet some of these Alliance people? It seems like it'd be important to meet them before Tsuna becomes their Boss."

Proactive and sensible behaviour? Well worth encouraging. Sure, Chew Toy was a thorough disappointment but getting introduced to capable enough Guardians would reassure the Dons that he might not be _too_ terrible to bear for a few years, especially if some other heir could be dug up through a bastard line or something in the meantime. Why would Nono and Iemitsu bother to make the effort to hunt those down when they already had a legitimately born candidate from a background they approved of, one they could manipulate as they pleased?

And it would be a nice way to pre-empt Smoking Bomb out of the Right Hand position's actual responsibilities, as Chrome would clearly be the Left to all they were introduced to; sharing headspace with a genocidal lunatic and all. Smoking Bomb's claims to the position would 'obviously' be a smokescreen; he would assume his given workload was appropriate and make a lot of noise about being Right Hand while Yamamoto quietly got on with the nitty-gritty in the background and kept the Family afloat.

"You speak Italian?"

"I learned some the last time I visited Dino and Chrome's fluent, so I've been practicing with her and Bianchi as Bianchi says Chrome sounds too northern to be proper Vongola."

"Better than nothing." And telling that sword-brat was learning from Poison Scorpion instead of her brother, who as a classmate and fellow Guardian should have been his first choice. "You know any Sicilian or Vongola history?"

"Mostly who was who of the Vongola Dons, not what they really did or even all their names. Reborn's not that great at history I think, since he hasn't shared a lot of it."

More that Reborn was an independent operator with an intentionally messed up memory and so not enough of an insider to really know any of the facts. "I'll call my cousin and see if he can get a local history text translated and have someone write up a basic primer of the Vongola. Reborn's a freelancer so not really privy to all the details as he's not part of the Alliance, but the basic stuff that most people learn by the time they're cow-brat's age? Easy enough." Cow-brat would be six or seven now and in school.

"Really? Thanks Squalo!"

"Thank my cousin in person if Dino agrees. He's Heir Superbi and one of those important Alliance people that you're likely to meet first. The Superbi and Cavallone are neighbours."

"I didn't know that you and Dino were neighbours..." Sword-brat commented and Squalo wasn't sure if that was more fishing for information or genuine bullshit. Brat had a good bullshit face.

"I'll tell my cousin to include a map." Because there was no way that a foreigner could work out who ruled what without one. "And you're joining us for sushi; practice makes perfect."

Now to see what was worse, Dark Horse as a collective learning a new language or a teenager who'd been learning it for the past few months from two divergent sources?

* * *

Xanxus had stayed in the hotel suite for an hour with Luss working on his scars –the ones on his back this time– before heading out to wander around town. Florrie had really enjoyed the origami paper he'd bought her last time he was here, as well as the sweets, and he'd noticed that one of her relatives had sent her a book of Hiroshige fan prints for Christmas that she'd really enjoyed, so vintage art was clearly another viable angle.

Getting her into a kimono was something that would have to wait until she was more used to being a Guardian and everything that entailed, so wouldn't baulk at the amount of money being spent. A yukata though? She'd probably wear it as a dressing gown to replace her current rather old and ragged towel dressing gown, but that wasn't a reason _not_ to buy one. All the more reason to do so, in fact; she'd be wearing it nearly every day, which was the whole point of clothes in the first place.

By half-past six he'd bought a range of bits and bobs he thought Florrie would like including a children's calligraphy book –she'd shown an interest in Japanese when he translated some of the sections of her origami book for her– and some different sweets, so he headed back to the hotel to stow them in his luggage before setting out to Takesushi.

He was paying for the food tonight since it was the shark's birthday treat; if Bel had been there since early afternoon then Prince the Ripper would have to shell out for that himself. Not that Bel would hesitate; brat had a very fuzzy idea of the value of money, it gave the miser conniptions and was the most glaring proof there was that Bel had grown up rich. The kind of rich that didn't bother looking at their bank statements, because they were _never_ going to run out money.

Bel wasn't anywhere near that rich anymore but he still shopped like he was. Mammon grumbled about it, but Xanxus's Storm Guardian was a smart brat and had never gone into the red so the Varia Boss let him be.

Changing into something more casual and local-looking, Xanxus removed the raccoon tails and longer feathers from his hair then set out to Takesushi at a comfortable stroll. There wasn't any hurry; it wasn't even half seven yet.

* * *

"Oh, hi there Xanxus-san."

The Varia Boss raised an eyebrow at the shark, who was sitting next to his part-time student and who promptly cuffed the teenager around the head the moment the sword-brat stopped speaking.

"Vooi, speak Italian!" the Rain Officer snapped in that language before turning back to Xanxus. "Kid wants to visit Cavallone along with the Mist-girl come summer, meet people and learn more about the Alliance."

It was a good plan; sword-brat was clearly the smartest and most invested of Chew Toy's Guardians, so introducing him to the Family early would be beneficial all around. Xanxus didn't know much about the Mist-girl, but if shark was in favour then it would probably be for the best. They could subtly push sword-brat into occupying the actual Right Hand position, which left Mist-girl as Left Hand; that fitted with her mind-share with Rokudo the ex-Vendicare inmate and genocidal lunatic, which were appropriately terrifying attributes and would keep people in line.

"Everybody's on holiday in summer," he pointed out, sitting down and getting comfortable. "The Japanese school year ends soon; could come over for a fortnight then. More practical; meet people in a professional context and all."

Shark frowned. "Setting up meetings takes time though."

"Can have mine," Xanxus pointed out easily; he had a dozen or so lunches and afternoons with various Dons and Heirs arranged in the run-up to Easter and none of those people would mind if rather than the Varia Boss they ended up meeting with the Decimo's Right and Left Hand, even if it meant adding Don Cavallone to the guest list.

"True." Shark switched to Japanese to order his food and make the suggestion of a visit to Italy in the upcoming week for his son to the sushi chef, then back to Italian to explain to the sword-brat why Xanxus showing up at a quarter to eight despite the table having been booked from six-fifty was not only acceptable but _expected_ under Sicilian social norms. Which led into Bel mentioning that the further north you went in Italy, the less leeway there was on timing; around Milan things generally started a quarter of an hour after you said they would, in Rome that stretched to half an hour and in Sicily nobody thought anything of being an hour later than scheduled for social events.

"So I arrive at different time in different place, even if all meetings are arranged at same time?"

"Longer vowels, brat," Xanxus drawled, "and adjectives conjugate with the nouns they refer to; _tempi diversi_ , not _tempi diverso_."

"Thanks, er, Mr Xanxus?" Sword-brat was clearly uncomfortable with the lack of polite forms available in the language he was learning; he'd get over it soon enough.

"I'm not a Mister," he informed the teenager, mostly just to make him squirm.

"You can just say 'thanks' and leave it at that; it's not rude," Luss offered helpfully. "If you're not sure how formal to be just avoid using names entirely."

"Okay."

"Have your friends covered Italian polite speech yet and when it's appropriate?" the Sun continued considerately. "It's the third person singular feminine as most formal –Lei– for speaking to doctors and professors and priests and the elderly, and the second person plural for people you don't know very well or who are higher placed than you are in the workplace. That's Voi, by the way."

"Voi is formal?" Bel snickered at the way sword-brat side-eyed the shark there.

"Formal enough to not get accused of poor manners," Xanxus said dryly, "but not quite as formal as some people would prefer." Dons generally expected to be addressed as 'Lei' unless the people talking to them were also Dons; Squalo having been de-facto Varia Boss for years had been in a grey area and had taken every possible advantage of that. Still did; Xanxus hadn't made him stop so nobody else dared comment. Shark called everybody 'voi,' his little sister included, and got away with it because nobody wanted to accuse the second-in-command of the Assassination Division of being insufficiently respectful when he was already being politer than the Varia Boss ever bothered to be.

The first course of sushi arrived and there was a pause as everybody dug in; sword-brat made a surprised face as shark shoved one of the dishes at him, but did start eating it.

"I have questions about the future," sword-brat ventured after a few minutes.

Shark gestured with his chopsticks, his mouth full of sashimi.

"In the underground base–"

"That was _not_ the future," Luss interrupted firmly. "That was a _possible_ future based on the desires and goals of all the Flame-Active people alive at the time of the Bovino Bazooka being triggered and all those individuals within its immediate sensory range. It was a construct, not a reality."

That was something Xanxus had ordered looking into shortly after he'd befriended Florrie, because she hadn't featured in that fake-future at all. They'd already known the fake-future _was_ fake, but getting the details out of the Bovino Famiglia hadn't happened until fairly recently. After all, nothing that had happened differently for the Vongola since getting the fake-future memories could possibly have influenced Florrie into coming or not coming to Sicily for her year out, but here she was in reality and she hadn't been there in the fake-future. Which implied that the Bovino Bazooka worked with a limited number of variables rather than modelling what went on with the entire planet's population and all their respective everyday decisions.

"Oh." Sword-brat looked completely thrown. "I didn't know that."

"Not like the calf knows the science behind his favourite toy," Bel commented between mouthfuls.

"But, the Boxes?"

"Arcobaleno Pacifiers can do some weird shit," shark said shortly, "including resurrect people. Are you really surprised they managed to turn Mist-constructs into genuinely physical objects?" Never mind that most of what made a Box Weapon work was the wielder's Flames, which had been real for all the brats returning from the fake-future; they'd all become Active during that time, even the cow-brat.

Of course the Varia hadn't got that short-cut; they'd had to reconstruct their Box Weapons independently. Which they had; Xanxus had done most of them himself, with a little help from the old ghoul Talbot to turn them into rings rather than keep them as boxes. Xanxus knew how to do the ring-conversion himself now, but that lesson had been expensive.

"So that wouldn't have actually happened in real life." Sword-brat was sharp.

"No," shark replied; "only reason Byakuran could play the system like that was because it _was_ fake. It also doesn't take into account the actions of civilian bystanders, so it lacked the random element; never underestimate how badly a passing civvie can send your plan to shit without even noticing."

That was practically a Varia Rule; there were dozens of variously hilarious stories about Varia Missions that had gone wonky because some random stranger was in the wrong place at the wrong time for the Varia doing the hit.

"So, my father?"

"Your father wants to be a chef and retired from fighting," Xanxus said easily, "so that is his current desire. But if he was attacked by people who meant you harm, don't you think that would change?" The chef was an assassin, retired or otherwise, and he would take an assassin's view on threats to his son. Which would be to eliminate them with extreme prejudice.

"I understand." Sword-brat grinned. "Thanks."

There was a pause as Tsuyoshi arrived to take away the cleared plates and bring the next course, along with more drinks.

"So if the false future was built on the desires of the people in the present who have Flames," sword-brat asked eventually, "does that mean it shows how those people will become, even if the rest was inaccurate?"

"It's not guaranteed," Lussuria cautioned, "but it's likely. More likely the older the person in question is now; adults rarely change once settled in themselves, teenagers are a little more flexible and I would not take anything said or done by anyone currently a small child as indicative, and anyone younger than ten doesn't even exist yet so is entirely theoretical."

That last bit was the really unsettling part; in the fake future Yuni had been eight or so. She hadn't existed in the real world at all until Chew Toy and his brat-pack had returned, and then she'd killed Donna Aria somehow and replaced her without the Giglio Nero objecting; if the interloper hadn't done that then Donna Aria would have lived another six or seven years, possibly longer if the Arcobaleno System being scrapped had still happened. Yuni had appeared first as a child, then as a teenager during the Arcobaleno Mess; the Varia Boss _still_ wasn't sure what or who she really was and what part she'd played in fake-Byakuran's insanity, but he knew she'd been heavily involved. The only reason the lunatic had possessed the Mare Rings in the fake-future at _all_ was that they'd been given to him by the Giglio Nero when he was in his late teens. Via the Cervello of course, but that meant less than nothing.

Sword-brat chewed on that revelation for some time, his smile notably absent; clearly having to consider a few hard truths there.

"Squalo? When did you do your tour?"

"When I was your age," the shark said easily, grinning wickedly as the sword-brat fumbled his chopsticks. "Wait, you're nearly sixteen now, right? So I started when I was six months younger than you are now. Took me most of two years."

"You looked older."

"You mean I looked foreign," shark corrected the sword-brat, but not unkindly. "It's hard to judge age in people of a different ethnicity to what you're used to."

Another pause; Bel filled it with a monologue on all the ways Byakuran's various world-domination schemes would have been sabotaged by the random element if he'd tried them in real life, from thrill-seeking hackers through power outages, freak weather events and advances in civilian technology to pest problems in various underground bases; be as fancy as you like, but there _would_ be rats and they _would_ chew on the wires unless you had a Mist on site to Ward every single one or invested in some kind of pest control method. Warding could be done, but chances were that it wouldn't because various Mists had different specialties and levels of skill in different aspects of their Flames, never mind the limitation of reserves; Mammon's current GM was a good example of someone great at Warding –and Territories– but severely hindered by limited reserves.

Sword-brat's father brought out more food –and granted his permission for his son to visit Sicily during the upcoming spring holidays– including _Buri Daikon_ for the shark. The pleased grin on his Rain's face at getting an entire platter of his favourite food to himself only got wider when Xanxus casually elbowed Bel off-balance for trying to steal some of it, prompting Prince the Ripper to complain loudly about the indignity and then pointedly sulk over his _Karei_.

Sword-brat didn't have any more questions about the fake-future that he was prepared to voice, so the rest of the meal passed in a to and fro instruction from Xanxus's Guardians on various cultural things, correcting sword-brat's pronunciation and grammar and teaching him new words. All in all, it wasn't a bad evening.

* * *

When they showed up at the dojo the next morning it turned out Tsuyoshi had closed his restaurant for the day and sword-brat was skiving off school; shark was completely delighted at the prospect of an entire day spent sparring with the two of them. Xanxus was less enthused; joining in might have been fun but his swordsmanship was mediocre at best and watching for hours on end didn't really appeal. So he watched for an hour, then left to wander around town for a while and do some more shopping; the previous afternoon he'd bought a lot of cheap stuff but only browsed for more expensive shit.

He did eventually buy the yukata that had caught his eye the previous day; traditional indigo and white, patterned with waves and foam and much more expensive than it looked due to being hand dyed rather than a cheap industrial print off a bolt of factory cotton. Xanxus didn't care about the price though; it was well-made, would look excellent on Florrie and wouldn't fade or fall apart after a dozen washes. He then took it back to the hotel –rather than carry it around for the rest of the day– before heading back to wait for the shark to decide it was lunchtime.

Xanxus spent the rest of the morning lounging in the shade outside the dojo, relishing the feel of the shark enjoying himself. When the sword-crazy contingent broke for lunch Luss and Bel showed up with bento –shop-bought since their current suite lacked a kitchenette but high quality regardless– and the Varia Boss sat back as Squalo expounded at length about various sword-styles and techniques with glee and enthusiasm, not letting Prince the Ripper's occasional eye-rolling deter him in the slightest.

After lunch his other Officers left again –probably to do whatever they personally considered fun that was possible in Namimori, although Xanxus rather hoped Luss wasn't stalking the boxer-trash... on second thought he probably wasn't since boxer-trash would be in school– and the sword nuts returned to the dojo for more sparring. Xanxus considered his options, decided it was good napping weather –today was sunny and the wind had dropped– let Bester out and used the liger as a pillow on the dojo's porch; the building was tucked away on private property with a screen of trees to hide it from the road, so he didn't need to worry about any civvies seeing Bester and calling animal control.

It was a good way to kill a few hours.

The sun was starting to get low in the sky when Xanxus noticed a couple of Flame-Actives approaching the dojo; Chew Toy's girl Mist –Chrome Dokuro– and the not-quite-Sky who'd been Skull's representative during the Arcobaleno Mess. Enma Kozato, who'd made a mess of the old fart's attempt at an Inheritance Ceremony January before last along with the rest of his Family, due to being yanked around by Daemon Spade's ghost.

"Afternoon," he said without either opening his eyes or moving from his spot. "Using your Flames all the time makes you easy to spot for anybody with decent senses, Chrome Dokuro."

There was a brief sense of cringing from the girl, swiftly quashed and replaced with determination. "Good afternoon, Xanxus-san," she said softly; "Enma-kun and I noticed that Takeshi-kun was not at school today, so we brought his homework."

Xanxus switched to Italian; the girl definitely knew it, what with having shared head-space with Rokudo for months. "I'm sure that you sensing the presence of several powerful Flame-users had nothing at all to do with it, right?"

"Takeshi is our friend," The depressed-feeling almost-Sky said in heavily accented Sicilian, the consonants and stress entirely distinctive and nothing at all like standard Italian; oh how interesting.

"He's having fun with his father and my Rain, getting comprehensively thrashed and improving himself," Xanxus drawled, finally opening one eye to look at the interlopers. "Sit down; they won't finish for a while yet."

Both teenagers looked very uncomfortable with the invitation, but did sit down. Seeing how they moved around each-other and communicated in little glances made it clear the two were friends; good friends.

A few seconds of awkward silence made it clear that neither one was going to start a conversation; Xanxus considered whether or not he cared, then decided to be generous. After all if Mist-girl was going to make a good Left Hand then she definitely needed a fix for her little organ problem; something more reliable than a Mist-patch.

"You use Mist to fool your body into thinking it never got eviscerated," he said bluntly, still in Italian, "but that makes you stand out. You're decent with illusions but you're never going to be able to fool anybody with even mediocre Flame-senses because they'll always be able to pick you out and look past your work. You're Vongola now, you can get transplants; you won't even have to take immunosuppressants for the rest of your life, since my Officers worked out a way to convert transplanted tissue to match the host." He glanced at the not-quite-Sky; "the Vindice weren't kind enough to restrict themselves to non-lethal hits on some of us."

"Your Rain's heart?" The redhead asked as the indigo-haired girl stared at him in confusion.

Xanxus hummed agreement, glancing back at the Mist. "Took less than a month to sort out; you'd be much less of a liability."

"Where would you get the organs from?" The girl asked eventually, her crisp accent making it abundantly clear she'd picked up the language from her former mental hitchhiker.

"Pick a terminal coma patient," Xanxus drawled, waving a hand lazily. "Being able to convert the cells means compatibility doesn't matter, so whenever you're ready." He paused to let that sink in. "Sword-brat's coming to Sicily for a fortnight come the end of the school year to meet people; he said you'd be coming too." That was less than a week away, but it wasn't like she had parents to fob off and a lack of passport wouldn't stop a Mist.

Girl clearly knew what he was referring to as her spine stiffened and she nodded firmly. "Yes, I will be."

"Can fit it in then, if you like."

The girl bit her lip. "Later, maybe?"

Xanxus shrugged; no skin of his nose. "Whatever; not my problem either way." Luss and Mammon would be pleased for the opportunity to refine the process regardless of when she caved and the range of organs she needed would enable them to prove that the process was as reliable as it appeared to be. About the only issue they might have would be the size of the organs since she was so small, but honestly teenagers had road accidents all the time so that wasn't as large an issue as it might be and puberty was going to take a while to get wrapped up, considering her body lacked half the necessary glands. Stress was also an issue there; she was putting a lot of effort and energy into fooling her body it was healthy, so that effort and energy wasn't going into helping her grow. Besides, it wasn't like everybody who got into car crashes were young men and there were plenty of short women about.

Sword-brat then emerged from the dojo, a bruise over his eye where it was evident shark had punched him with the prosthetic fist. "Hi guys!" he said with a cheery grin.

Xanxus promptly closed his eyes again and ignored the attempt at coded conversation; they weren't fooling anybody, he knew they'd come over to offer back-up in case sword-brat had gotten ambushed by Varia assassins. That was why not-quite-Sky-brat had his hands free and Mist-girl was the one holding the worksheets. Although it was possible that the boy had made an effort to counter that weakness since having it taken advantage of last spring; it wasn't like he could check. Not unless he asked, which he didn't care to do. That was the redhead's problem, not his.

Interesting that the redhead spoke Sicilian though; more proof that they really were descended from an old ally of Primo's that had emigrated out here. Ironic though that Primo had himself moved to the area shortly after but the two men clearly hadn't been in contact. Primo deliberately shunning the other man, or had the former Don genuinely not known that his old ally had settled within visiting distance of his new home?

* * *

Dīs had wrangled precedence on visiting Boss's Cloud Guardian for his Squad on the basis that Dark Horse was an Immortal Squad, he was a Cloud and letting Hawkeye take Marvel Squad to be her introduction to the Varia was just plain irresponsible. Varg had objected that The Pack was also an Immortal Squad led by a Cloud –a Cloud who had been Varia longer than Dīs had– but agreeably subsided when Este of Aurora Borealis dryly pointed out that Dark Horse was the _original_ Immortal Squad, so had seniority regardless.

So here he was, with Alastor, Nycteus and the new Aethon and Orphnaeus that he'd not even had for a year yet, visiting Boss's Cloud Guardian. Boss's very civilian Cloud Guardian; he'd lost heavily in the betting pools there, not having expected Boss to take up with somebody so… soft.

He still wasn't sure what Boss saw in her, to be honest. It wasn't sex –she was one of those Clouds who plain wasn't bothered and Boss had never liked being panted after anyway– it clearly wasn't combat skill or affinity for languages either; the woman was bilingual and moderately competent in another two languages but that was it. Dīs wasn't sure what else Boss could be interested in really; she wasn't anything like his other Guardians.

Well, being offered drinks and bread fresh from the oven might possibly have been a factor; she'd certainly won over his Squad in minutes and they were all cheerfully telling her stories of fun things that had happened on missions. She'd make a damn fine soft interrogation specialist; everybody wanted to be listened to after all, so somebody offering food and a non-judgemental ear was always going to get more out of a person than any torture could achieve and at several times the speed.

"So, why kill people?"

Of course the brazen fearlessness was also something Boss would appreciate. There was none of that lead-up or beating-around-the-bush hemming and hawing that Dīs and most of his fellow Clouds lacked patience for.

"It's our job?" Orphnaeus pointed out.

"I guess I just don't understand why somebody would pay somebody else to commit murder," the Cloud Guardian sighed, thumping the dough she was kneading on the countertop. "I mean, yes if they're dead they're out of the picture, but it doesn't resolve any of the underlying issues and it means you're only catering to the people rich enough to afford your services. Why can't people pay you to ruin their enemies instead? Everybody's done _something_ –we're all human after all– and the kind of people who acquire the kinds of enemies who are willing to pay to see them dead tend to have more sins than most. Besides, isn't it more fun to see your enemy kneeling shellshocked in the ruins of everything they've ever built or owned, their worldview shattered, their family disowning them, their so-called friends standing well back and whispering about how they always knew there was _something_ wrong with them, bailiffs closing in and the press circling like vultures?"

Well the propensity towards ruthless psychological torture was something Boss would enjoy as well; on second thoughts she fitted right in with the other Officers. Lussuria in particular; this kind of thing would be right up the Sun's street.

"I mean, a lot of people would actually commit suicide after that," his fellow Cloud went on blithely, as though she wasn't the centre of attention of an entire Squad of fascinated assassins, "and the ones that didn't would most likely have a breakdown or a religious epiphany, possibly while serving time in jail, and be disinclined to repeat whatever it was that got them on someone's hit list in the first place. Plus if you do that, the person who commissioned it gets to enjoy feeling virtuously vindicated; what's not to like?" She glanced over her shoulder to smile at them. "Plus you can take your pay out of the target's money, enabling you to expand your customer base into lower income brackets."

"I like you," Aethon said abruptly, scratching one of the floral tattoos decorating his neck.

"The Varia used to do sabotage back when it was founded during World War Two," Nycteus volunteered, slathering butter on another slice of warm seeded bread, "but it kind of fell by the wayside in the years since then; nobody's asked for it since so it's slid out of practice."

"I bet there's a lot of money in sabotage and industrial espionage these days," the woman mused, folding finely chopped candied peel into her dough lump. "All the computer stuff and high-grade electronics, never mind the pharmaceutical industry. Hell, the optics industry is one big black hole with a single multinational making the entire world's spectacle lenses; you could make a killing on theft of intellectual property and open up the global market on the side."

And there was why Mammon liked her; a solid appreciation of the power of money, along with the basic financial sense that had got her a job doing data entry for the Mist Officer well before she became Boss's Guardian.

"You think murder's thinking too small," Alastor said thoughtfully, "don't you?"

The Cloud smiled apologetically at them, setting the dough aside to rise again. "I'm sorry. It just seems… petty. That's merely my opinion of course; I think that anybody who despite wanting someone dead lacks the commitment to do it with their own two hands is just… trash, really. If you're not prepared to risk yourself and shoulder the blame, why are you even bothering? Does that person's death really mean that little to you? Is it just cheaper or easier than the alternatives? I mean, I can see some situations where a person might not be capable of doing it themselves –if they're elderly or ill or disabled or something– but otherwise?" She shrugged. "They're just deluding themselves that they're civilised, paying somebody else to do what they're too cowardly to attempt."

A very valid point, but not one Dīs would have expected from a civilian. Even a Cloud.

"Financial ruin on the other hand," she smiled again, the expression wicked and full of teeth, "well that really _does_ require a deft and professional touch, doesn't it? To disassemble a person's life in such a way that it doesn't look like a personal attack, simply a series of unfortunate events leading to shocking revelations splashed over the press, charges being brought, money going missing…" she sighed, shaking her head. "The skill it would take to pull something like that off, in the face of prolonged public and governmental scrutiny, is several orders of magnitude more challenging than mere murder, don't you think? People get away with murder all the time."

Boss's Cloud was a damn _tease_ and knew _exactly_ which buttons to press, despite never having met a single Varia assassin –other than Boss and the Officers– before today, and he doubted Boss had ever talked business with her. Dis was reluctantly impressed; he _knew_ she was doing it on purpose but he _still_ wanted to prove to her that yes, they could damn well do all that _too_.

"Think Mammon would go for it?" Aethon asked quietly, glancing at his Squad Leader as the woman went to wash her hands.

"Wouldn't hurt to ask," Dīs admitted; he was pretty sure the Mist Officer would be all in favour of diversifying their portfolio a bit, considering that Chew Toy was a total coward and there was a good chance they'd be out of work come his ascension to Don Vongola. Well, perhaps not _entirely_ out of work, but there'd likely be a significant drop in mission requests from within the Alliance as various Dons tried murder-unrelated kinds of problem solving for size and experimented with what worked for them. Branching out into non-lethal services that required a Quality touch would improve their resilience and Boss could phrase it as 'returning to the Varia's roots' since sabotage was where they'd started.

He adjusted his opinion of his fellow Cloud again; Boss likely hadn't told her much about the succession mess but she'd still come up with a solid business strategy to keep the Varia afloat in the face of the upcoming crisis. If this was the kind of thing she brought to the table then Dīs was all in favour of her; unconditional support and an outside perspective were good to have and she wasn't trying to get Boss to dump the Varia entirely for offending her civilian sensibilities. Just wanting to change it a bit, but without wasting their talents or condemning any of the people who belonged to it.

This was much more than he'd been expecting; he really shouldn't have doubted Boss's tastes when the Sky had proved time and again that he had an excellent eye for people. Dīs just hadn't thought he'd find this kind of brutal pragmatism in a civvie teenager fresh out of high school; he should have remembered that Quality popped up in all kinds of unexpected places.

* * *

Squalo couldn't say he was surprised that Boss had dumped the whole 'introduce Chew Toy's two semi-competent Guardians to the Alliance' mess into his lap and fucked off to visit Florrie; it had been him bringing it up in the first place and it wasn't like they could bring Bronco in on private Alliance shit, so it was up to him to take the kids to most of the meetings, introduce them to people and make sure neither one put their foot in their mouth too badly. Which wasn't really what he wanted to be doing in the fortnight before Easter, but also wasn't as bad as it could have been. For one, Don Vongola apparently hadn't noticed that two of his successor's Guardians were in the country yet so he wasn't trying to meet them and fill their ears with garbage. For another making nice with the brat pack created the impression that the Varia was strongly supporting the succession process, which was very convenient and would give Boss leeway to say shit he wouldn't otherwise get away with in his own rescheduled meetings later.

He was starting off with his own Family –which was favouritism but expected so nobody would comment– then taking them to see the Lanza and the Alliata, who were as Vongola as the Alliance got. Then the Visconti, the Rocca, the Scarlatti, the Zanasi and the Prizzi in no particular order, and that was all the major land-owning Families covered. After that it was a matter of who was free when and possibly crashing a few events being run for or by the younger generation; he should ask Lessi to get her little brother to set something up since he had recently turned sixteen, so was in the right age bracket and had the right connections, attending the Academy as he did.

He was going to have to ask Delfina to stay clear though; he didn't want his little sister getting dragged into Chew Toy's shit. Not when it was guaranteed to wind up being a total disaster inside the next five years, even with his part-time student and Mist-girl doing their best to mitigate the damage.

Squalo would probably have to tell her _exactly_ how bad the fake future had got and the mechanics of the Bovino Bazooka, but it would be worth it if she kept her head down. He wasn't going to say anything about the possibility of hunting down alternative Vongola Skies but Delfina would probably come to that conclusion independently, so if she did end up doing a little genealogical detective work on her own initiative it would not be his responsibility.

Of course his cousin Pantera guessed exactly what he was up to the moment he called to inform the asshole cat that rather than Boss coming to visit, the Superbi Heir would be hosting two of the Decimo's Guardians, and called him out on it.

"So I take it this is more damage control, Squalo?"

"Voi, these two are at least trying," Squalo protested, "and with how much effort Nono's put into ensuring his nephew's son will inherit the Family it's much easier to go with it and persuade the Decimo to take our concerns seriously afterwards."

"Such as having him step down in favour of a more qualified candidate," the Heir Superbi mused. "Well, with the Varia advocating for them I'm sure the Decimo's Right and Left Hands will face very little opposition. I'm getting those books sorted out for you," he added, "but it's going to take a while. I'll try to have them ready before your guests go home but it might end up taking a little longer than that, especially with the Alliance information required."

"I'm planning on having that book Warded, voi," Squalo assured his cousin, knowing that the reason all the relevant information wasn't collated in the first place was to ensure nobody could steal it. "It's going to be blood-locked to the kids, both the text and the actual information; that way Rokudo can't get into it without asking us first." That was the main hazard right now, although Squalo very pettily wanted Chew Toy and Smoking Bomb to have to face up to their arrogance and wilful ignorance and ask Boss nicely if they wanted to know anything about the Family they were assuming they'd get to lead. Well, Smoking Bomb was assuming a degree of authority and leadership as self-proclaimed Right Hand; Chew Toy was still running for controlled failure.

"Well if contingencies are already in place then I can hurry matters along a little," Pantera said airily. "By the way, thank you for distracting the gossips; your dating the Scarlatti Heiress has prompted everybody to speculate avidly on her father's reasoning for refusing to consider the match rather than approaching me with personal questions about your health."

"Oh?" Not quite what Squalo had had in mind, but at least he was now being left alone by both vultures and matchmakers.

"A surprisingly large contingent is convinced you _have_ to have been born on the wrong side of the sheets for Don Scarlatti to be so adamant about not giving his blessing to his daughter's liaison with the second in command of the Varia," the cat continued lightly. "Current speculation points towards you being an accidental byproduct of Delfino and his wife spicing up their marriage; your grandparents haven't denied it yet, which is keeping things amusing. Nobody seems to be considering the possibility that it might just be Ottone taking the whole Scarlatti-Superbi falling-out over Quinto's ascension a century ago a little more seriously than most."

Well that was Don Scarlatti all over, wasn't it?

"See you tomorrow cousin; Delfino's already invited himself along." Pantera finished, hanging up before the Rain Officer could bellow at the damn cat for letting his grandpa crash the party.

Damn the old man, he was going to deliberately embarrass Squalo in front of the brats just because he hadn't been visiting enough for his and Grandma's tastes. He'd have to call Grandpa _now_ and arrange to visit over Easter with his sister if he wanted to keep his dignity; probably set up a bunch of other visits too, both before and after the annual family reunion.

Well, look on the bright side: Delfino had originally been planning on crashing Pantera's meeting with his Sky, so at least this way Boss wouldn't be gleefully exchanging blackmail material with his grandfather behind his back and then ambushing him with it.

* * *

"So how do you think it's going, voi?"

Sword-brat looked up from his notebook and the map he was poring over and chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "Ah, well." Across the table from him the Mist-girl had her nose buried in a copy of the local history book that Pantera was having translated into Japanese; it was actually written in Sicilian, not Italian, so for the girl to understand it either she or her mental eavesdropper had copied the language from someone in the past few days. Probably without asking first; he'd have to mention Mist-etiquette or have one of the Varia's Mists go over it for them at some point before Chew Toy officially took over.

Squalo pulled out a chair and joined them at the table; Bronco had given his nominally-Vongola guests an entire guest house to knock about in and had even explained the politics and practicalities and implications of doing so. Mainly so they wouldn't protest; there'd been a whole lot less protesting of what was being offered them by various Allied and Alliance people as the week progressed.

"Just ask," the Rain Officer suggested, pouring himself a drink from the water carafe on the table. "I'm one of maybe four people you _can_ ask right now without either getting incomplete information or it costing you." Mainly because Squalo was currently more invested in the stability of the Vongola than in getting ahead and practical enough to recognise that in order for 'getting ahead' to mean anything, the Alliance needed to not go to shit due to poor leadership.

His part-time student smiled tightly. "The Vongola is really big."

It wasn't a question but Squalo could hear what the brat meant. "Yeah, it is; Alliance covers an area inhabited by over a million people and while most of those people _aren't_ mafia, they're still affected by what we do. They shop at our businesses, use the roads we maintain, sell to our exporters and work in our companies and factories. And while over half of that's in the hands of the Alliance Dons, the Vongola does personally administrate a lot of it through underbosses and other subordinate dons, who basically lease Vongola land and are required to look out for Vongola interests as well as their own while tithing to the Family." The only Alliance Families with a significant overseas presence were the Superbi and the Visconti; everyone else was doing all their business right here in Sicily.

"Reborn never mentioned any of this."

"Not his job to," Squalo replied dryly; "External Advisor or Don Vongola's job. Reborn's job is to turn" –don't call him Chew Toy– "Sky-trash into a half-decent Heir-candidate. Actually teaching him what being a Don is _about_ is Nono's job; Reborn's just there to make sure brat's got a solid base to build all that on. General academic knowledge, basic business studies including fundamental accounting principles, a bit of local and international law and history, the basics of creating and cultivating an image; not the details of the politics, not the people or how those people are connected, not why things are done a certain way or how various things are organised within the Vongola." Pantera had been the one to actually explain what a Mafia Home Tutor was responsible for and it made Squalo's blood boil that neither Don Vongola nor the External Advisor were bothering to fill in the other half of Chew Toy's education or even appoint somebody else to do it. Not that Reborn had exactly done his bit either –combat skills weren't everything and critical thinking should definitely have featured somewhere– but he wasn't being as negligent as Squalo had initially assumed.

"Shouldn't Reborn still have told Tsuna that?"

Squalo sipped his drink. "You sure he hasn't?" He honestly didn't know, but then again Chew Toy wasn't exactly making an effort to ask either.

The look on the kid's face made it clear that he didn't know either and that he also knew exactly how keen on responsibility his Sky wasn't. Yeah, good luck with that.

"What does Don Vongola actually _do_?"

Ah, now they were getting into the real Right Hand questions; nice to see his part-time student stepping up. "Referees internal Alliance squabbles and acts as primary negotiator between the Alliance and external parties, both for setting up business contracts and dealing with misdeeds committed either by or against the Alliance," he listed easily. "Also oversees Vongola Territory by appointing underbosses –other than the Varia, we're got a dispensation to appoint our own Head– and keeping tabs on the various minor Families belonging to the Vongola, directing the priorities and behaviour of the various Vongola Houses and approving their funding, choosing the direction taken by Research and Development, considering appeals made by the rank and file and keeping an ear out for trash trying to play the system."

"Sounds like running a business, haha."

Squalo raised an eyebrow at the bullshit grin on sword-brat's face. "It is one. Crime gets done by the rank and file; the Don's job is to make sure everybody in the Family is getting what they need and that no external parties have the means to harm the Family. Which yes, _does_ mean the occasional show of force, but that's mostly to reassure the Family that they're being looked after and to intimidate outsiders so there aren't too many assassination attempts."

"Tsuna mentioned taking the Vongola back to its roots."

Squalo groaned. "God help us."

"What's wrong with being vigilantes?"

The Rain Officer glared; brat was _definitely_ bullshitting him now. "Rokudo was a vigilante, you do know that don't you?"

"Ah?"

Clearly not; did any of these brats bother looking into what words actually _meant_? Squalo wanted a dictionary to beat them over the head with. "A vigilante is somebody who decides that the law isn't working and imposes their own law. Like Rokudo massacring all those Families up north –including half their kids– for the crime of belonging to the Underworld, or like Hibari beating people up for 'crowding' at your school. What's Sky-brat planning on doing, running around and beating up everybody who offends his civvie sensibilities?" Squalo huffed sourly. "Most of the criminal stuff the Vongola does is tax evasion and smuggling, and the smuggling is often shit that _can't_ go on the open market, like Flame-attuned pharmaceuticals and Flame Tech. The rest's stuff that's legal in some places and not others or has heavy levies applied, like foodstuffs that don't travel well, banned books, electronic appliances and alcohol."

"Tax evasion?"

"Voi, Sicily is an autonomous region and already spends all its tax money locally. Just because we'd rather do the upkeep ourselves instead of put money into the pockets of the politicians and bureaucrats doesn't make us criminal; it's _practical_. We're keeping people employed and it's quicker and less expensive since we don't have to wait months for the self-absorbed assholes in the bureaucracy to settle on whoever's cheapest or most closely related to them to do the work so they can pocket the difference." Never mind that Flame-related health problems meant Vongola Medical catered to a significant chunk of the local population, taking pressure off the civvie hospitals. Of course everybody in the Alliance paid _some_ tax –it did go into important shit and the Vongola couldn't do all of it– just not quite as much as they perhaps were supposed to by law. Although a lot of Alliance Dons went into completely legal tax avoidance rather than evasion, exploiting loopholes and so on. It wasn't hard; the tax laws had after all been written by rich trash who didn't want to pay their taxes either.

"What about the Varia?"

Squalo sighed. "Guess why the entire Underworld cares about what the Vongola thinks, to the point that over half of it avoids drug-dealing and human trafficking on our say-so. Proper Underworld, not the low-level scum running gangs around the edges and barely getting their feet wet."

"They're afraid of you."

The Rain Officer nodded. "The Vongola's the only Mafia Family on the planet with its own standing army and we're basically special forces equivalent with Flames on top of that. So the Vongola gets to dictate standards to everybody else, because we've got the big stick. Vongola Allies get to hire the Varia, so everybody wants to be Allied."

"The Vongola polices the Underworld." Sharp, sharp brat was going to cut himself at this rate.

"Not officially," Squalo contradicted mildly. "We're just powerful enough that nobody wants to piss us off. So long as we're powerful and involved in the Underworld, we get to shape it. We lose that power or leave the Underworld entirely and somebody else will step up to fill the power vacuum left behind. Like the Millefiore did in the fake future."

"Why did the Vongola do nothing about the Estraneo?" Oh, so Mist-girl was joining the conversation now. On her mental tag-along's behalf, but still.

"Intelligence on Families outside the Vongola Alliance is the CEDEF's responsibility," Squalo said, cheerfully throwing Iemitsu under the bus. "They said the Estraneo were all dead. I could point out that the Estraneo were experimenting on their own family members, thus making it an internal matter anyway, and they weren't even selling the results of their experiments, so it's not like anybody in the wider Underworld was profiting from it or even knew it was going on. Rokudo taking control of his Family by killing those who had been hurting him and his put an end to it and that would have been that if he hadn't decided to go off and slaughter a bunch of completely uninvolved people for the hell of it."

Well he'd done it because he was a child and a Mist and massively traumatised, but that didn't excuse any of it. CEDEF really _should_ have noticed that happening well before the Vindice got involved. Rokudo had killed off several smallish Famiglia and the CEDEF damn well should have noticed by at least number four or five; three was already a pattern and it wasn't like the massacres had taken place abroad. There really should not have been any delay in relaying the information or it making its way to the top of the priority list, so it not having gotten noticed was all on the CEDEF analists, just like those damned invisible assassins six months after Rokudo's arrests had been; the Vindice had at least done _something_ after the seventh Family got slaughtered, for all that they'd clearly misjudged who exactly had been running things.

"So you're saying it wasn't your _business_?"

Hello there Rokudo. "Dealing with people killing their own kids is the law's responsibility," Squalo said calmly. "We're not the law." If anything it was the Vindice's fault, since they were the only people presuming to actively police the Underworld and they clearly hadn't made any provisions for this kind of thing. "Interfering with the private lives of its citizens is something only governments presume to do; anybody else doing so is, guess what? Illegal."

He could feel the eavesdropping ex-Vendicare inmate seething just behind the girl's Flames; it was hilarious.

"Also, if you want to get technical the Estraneo _left_ the Underworld after the Possession Bullet debacle," Squalo went on in bored tones, "so they weren't _actually_ part of the mafia when they were doing their human experimentation; civvies do illegal shit all the time too and that's not our problem."

There was a growl, a flurry of Flames and the three of them were alone in the room again.

"Sorry," Mist-girl mumbled.

"It's not your fault that Rokudo's a self-centred moron," Squalo said flatly. "Yeah, he was nine when he started out and nine-year-olds are all convinced the universe revolves around them, but you'd think the time-out in jail would have given him the opportunity to discover the existence of logic and sense."

Sword-brat laughed. "Haa, Mukuro's always angry," he said breezily, waving the entire confrontation aside. "What's planned for this evening?"

"I'm introducing you to Heir Scarlatti, who's about your age, and he's taking you out for the night with his school friends," Squalo informed them both. "He should bring you back around four in the morning; Cavallone's arranging a car. Don't get drunk, don't promise anybody anything and for God's sake don't start any fights." Finishing fights was proof of skill, so they could do that as much as they liked.

His part-time student beamed. "We won't make you look bad, sempai," he promised cheerfully.

"Vooi!" What a brat!


	7. Chapter 7

A warning: Tsue is Australian and her use of the English language reflects that.

* * *

 **Pick up the pieces (and take stock)**

 _Xanxus was in the Iron Fort, a child again. He was wandering the halls and glimpsed Florrie in a mirror, talking to his father. He couldn't hear what they were saying. He turned and crossed the hall, barging into the room, but Florrie wasn't there and his father scolded him for slamming the door open. He demanded to know where she'd gone, but his father said she hadn't been in there at all._

 _He found Florrie in the gardens and demanded to know what she'd been talking to his father about. She said she hadn't seen his father at all. But he'd seen her!  
_

Xanxus woke up with a start, staring flatly at the ceiling; that damn dream again. He didn't know why it bothered him so much –it wasn't like his Cloud even knew what the old fart looked like and vice versa– but it did; he always woke up feeling hurt and angry and it was a shitty way to start the day. The dream –and variations thereof– had first showed up shortly after the Valentine's Ball almost two months ago, but had become a regular feature of his nights the week before he left for Japan; he was sick of it. What was wrong with his brain?

He'd not mentioned the dream to Florrie beyond the first time, when it had just been a weird not-quite-nightmare where the content didn't match the associated emotions. His friend had commiserated, later mentioning that she'd once had a night terror featuring underground tidal pools and a sense of overwhelming urgency. It had been nice to know he wasn't the only person whose brain sprung weird shit on them while sleeping, except that this dream was really bugging him and he wanted it to stop. What was up with it? Why did it keep coming back? It wasn't even a proper nightmare…

Stripping out of his pyjamas and standing under a hot shower did help him push the Stupid dream to the back of his mind, but it lingered there like a bad smell as he dried off, dressed, drank coffee, ate breakfast and leafed through the paperwork that had appeared since yesterday. Missions, missions, recruitment notes, invitation to lunch with Don Visconti, more missions, an Equipment notice requesting he shell out for computer upgrades –Information had built their own supercomputer but they still needed parts and materials to keep it on the cutting edge– details on new laws and political upheaval around the globe, a report on what sword-brat and Mist-girl were getting up to from Squalo –who was on his last day of playing taxi– and even more missions.

Business as usual then, despite it being the last working day before Easter; Xanxus picked up the stapled printout of political news and got started.

* * *

The mission folder at the bottom of the pile wasn't actually a mission per se, but a pitch from Mammon to expand the Varia's repertoire into sabotage again. The Mist Officer's reasoning was well-argued –more missions generally, more milk runs they could send newbies out in the field on, keep stealth skills sharp, ensure the Varia wouldn't abruptly run out of work when the Chew Toy took over a few years down the line– so Xanxus signed off on allowing Information to let their customer base know the Varia were expanding out of murder and into industrial espionage. Industrial espionage didn't seem like it would have seasons like murder did, as capitalism demanded constant innovation in the name of furthering profit. This way they'd be busy even in the off-season.

All the files either signed off or sent back pending further details, Xanxus ignored the short stack of paperwork that had arrived over the course of the morning and ordered lunch. He then threw lunch when the lamb arrived overcooked and decided to visit Florrie instead of doing the run-around with the kitchens again; yes, he'd probably have to cook his own steak –provided she had any fresh meat at all– but he'd have privacy and that was what mattered. Easter wasn't as slow as Christmas, but there were a lot of Varia in-house over Holy Week and that translated into people acting up and doing Dumb shit. Not everybody –the Jewish Varia were all off somewhere quietly having Passover– but a lot of them.

Walking out of the building Xanxus glanced up at the sky; it wasn't raining yet but it was heavily overcast and the air had a damp edge to it that made his remaining scars ache. It wasn't the sharp, stabbing pain of an impending thunderstorm; just the low, nagging throb that heralded light, steady rain that lasted for hours and painted the whole world grey. Xanxus hoped it wouldn't start until he'd made it to Florrie's; he wasn't in the mood to get soaked through.

It was just starting to sprinkle as he reached the farmstead; as he walked down the path he saw Florrie in the vegetable garden, dumping a basket of weeds into the compost bin. Hopping over the fence, Xanxus headed past her and through the glass doors to the sitting room rather than bothering with walking all the way around the outside, taking off the illusion over his scars as he did so; it wasn't really obvious since he was fully dressed, but most of the scars –other than the ones on his face, hands, feet and groin– were faded almost to nothing now, although the freckles popping up in their wake were both persistent and baffling.

"Hey Xanxus!" His friend called out cheerfully, taking off her dusty boots just outside the door and brushing them clean before carrying them inside. "Just give me a moment to change."

Xanxus nodded, pouring himself a drink from the almost-empty pitcher of lemonade standing on the coffee table and slumping on the sofa. Outside the still-open glass door the rain was starting to patter on the stone paved path that separated the house from the garden, grey closing in on all sides and making the room darker and cooler.

Florrie returned barely a minute later in a knitted jumper and jeans, her braid hanging loose down her back and slippers on her feet rather than walking around in just socks. "Looks like you got here just in time," she noted, walking over to close the glass door and cut off the draft.

Xanxus hummed. "Finished the paperwork for the day," he told her; it would be rude to start with demanding food, especially when it was clear she hadn't even started making her own lunch yet.

"And I've weeded, so we're both free and clear," his friend said cheerfully. "I was going to do some more planting as well, but clearly that's going to have to wait until this evening. Or possibly tomorrow," she glanced out of the windows, "since it doesn't look like this is going to blow over any time soon."

No, the rain did look very much like it was settling in for the long haul; not particularly heavy, but fine and steady and the wind had dropped completely.

"Anything interesting come up?" his friend asked him next, pouring herself the last of the lemonade and settling on the chair opposite; Florrie always asked that when he mentioned paperwork.

"Few people failing to consider all the required parameters before submitting," he complained, rolling his eyes, "various political blah and all that as usual. Oh, and Mammon had an idea for getting more missions in, so we're branching out into sabotage again."

"What, seriously?"

Xanxus nodded, sipping his own lemonade. "Might not need it now, but heir-brat has no clue how supply and demand works so could easily ban us from assassination missions once he takes over. Better to have alternatives in place before it gets to that." He paused, taking in his Cloud's expression and general feel. "Why so surprised?"

"I suppose I wasn't expecting it."

Xanxus frowned. "Meaning?"

"Well, I only mentioned it last month; I didn't think any systemic changes would happen, let alone this quickly."

Florrie had been talking to Mammon about the Varia? Behind his back? Suggesting they start taking missions that didn't involve assassination? That put matters in a very different light. "Why the hell were you poking your nose in?!"

"I wasn't!" Florrie retorted, sitting up straight. "I was just making conversation when your people came over!"

Not even talking with Mammon, she'd been going behind his back with his _men_?! Xanxus slammed his glass down on the coffee table and rose to his feet. "You said you didn't care that I killed people!" Had she been _lying_ to him? Lulling him into a false sense of security so he wouldn't notice her manipulations?

"I never said that!" his friend retorted, leaping to her feet and glaring up at him. "I said I wouldn't judge! I'm not judging! I can set it aside as not my business but that doesn't mean it makes sense to me!"

"So I'm just supposed to be fine with you going behind my back and subverting my authority?!"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Florrie shouted. "I just gave them my opinion!"

"You're my Guardian!" Xanxus bellowed back, feeling his Flames spring into life over his fingers in response to his fury. "If you want me to change things then you have to talk to _me_ about them!"

"I wasn't trying to change things!"

"The hell you were! You want me to stop killing people!" Xanxus took a threatening step forwards, looming over the coffee table. "Damn well say it to my face rather than sneaking around and manipulating me!"

"I was not manipulating–!"

"DON'T YOU FUCKING _LIE_ TO ME!"

"I'M NOT LYING!"

"TWISTING IT AROUND IT YOUR HEAD DOESN'T MAKE IT TRUE! TELL ME THINGS TO MY FACE OR GO JUMP OFF A CLIFF!"

The almost-empty glass whizzed past Florrie's ear and shattered against the wall behind her, the tinkle of broken glass loud in the sudden silence.

Florrie looked him in the eye for a long moment, her jaw tight and her free hand clenched in a fist.

"Fine."

With that she set down her drink, turned and marched across the room, throwing open the glass door and walking out into the rain without another word.

Xanxus was utterly furious at her abrupt abdication. She'd _deliberately_ gone behind his back and undermined him as Varia Boss and she wouldn't even _admit_ it! It was like dealing with the old fart all over again! He'd _trusted_ her! He'd told her things he'd never told _anybody_ else and she–!

The pitcher followed the glass, cracking when it hit the wall and shattering into thousands of tiny pieces against the floor, then Xanxus turned around and stormed out of the sitting room towards the kitchen with fists sparking orange, leaving the door standing open behind him.

* * *

Xanxus seethed all through cooking the steak he'd found in the fridge and eating all of it –who cared that there'd technically been enough for two– and had just got up to toss his plate in the sink when a thought surfaced.

Florrie never ate steak.

She made stews and risottos and stir-fries and casseroles and pies and occasional roasts, but she never ate steak; she said it was too much effort and washing up to cook everything in separate pans like that. Besides, good steak was expensive; mince, stewing beef and mutton were dirt cheap in comparison and could be stretched for a full week's worth of meals if you added enough vegetables or pasta.

But there'd been steak in her fridge. Really good steak at that.

Florrie had bought him steak. Steak for him to eat while he was visiting her. For no reason at all other than that she knew he liked steak.

She'd spent money she didn't have to spare to treat him, when she knew damn well he could have steak any time he wanted at the Varia.

She'd bought him steak and he'd told her to–

A very long way away there was a sound like a ceramic plate shattering on a tiled floor. Xanxus barely noticed; he was too busy trying to breathe past the terror and self-loathing gluing his throat shut as his knees gave way.

She hadn't –she _couldn't_ – God _please_ no–

* * *

Lussuria fished out his phone at the cheery ring telling him he had a text message, raising a curious eyebrow when he saw it was from Boss-honey. Boss-honey generally didn't text. Or call, for that matter; he usually buzzed your phone for half a ring so you knew he wanted you, then waited for you to either call back or show up in person depending on whether or not you and he were in the same place.

The message was a single word: _Farmstead_.

Luss spent a split-second considering what might push Boss-honey into ordering him to come down to Florrie's farm, tucked his smallest first-aid kit into his jacket and headed off downstairs at a brisk walk, texting an 'on my way' back to the Sky as he did so. Boss-honey acting out of character was never a good sign; hopefully nobody had gotten too badly hurt. There'd been a lot going on lately –the Vongola kids visiting, the Sun's own birthday party yesterday– and Lussuria had been thinking about recommending that Boss-honey take a few days off; he did worry and it wasn't good for him. Clearly he should have said something sooner.

The Sun Officer frowned absently up at the rain as he stepped outside, then set about ignoring it; he was needed!

* * *

The sound of a door swinging in the rising breeze as he approached the farm made Lussuria vault over the fence and around the building; a door left open, in this weather? Stepping inside and hearing glass crunch under his boot, the Sun looked around Florrie's sitting room in concern.

A puddle of juice to his left, along with a few larger shards of glass, lying under a damp stain on the wall; a fine scatter of glittering fragments across the entire floor, but more concentrated at the left-hand end of the room, around the chair.

Boss-honey was in the next room; the Sun Officer could feel him now, despite how heavily locked-down the Sky's Flames were. Oh dear.

Walking across the sitting room and wincing at the crunch and grind of glass embedding itself in the soles of his boots, Lussuria stepped quietly into the small hallway and from there into Florrie's kitchen. Which looked like a small bomb had gone off in it; the table was lying on its side, visibly scorched, there was shattered ceramic and dropped cutlery radiating out from a puddle of grease on the charred floor and past that –at the epicentre of the blast– was Boss-honey, curled up in a ball and shaking.

The Sun was at his Sky's side in an instant, kneeling on the floor and placing a soothing hand on the younger man's back. "I'm here Boss-honey," he said gently. "Tell me what you want me to do?" Boss-honey was clearly coming down from a serious panic attack, so now was not the moment to push.

"Luss." It was more of a croak than anything else.

"I'm right here, sugar lump," Lussuria crooned, letting his Flames dance gently across the surface of Boss-honey's own, not pushing or trying to impose a change; simply reinforcing the fact that he was present and willing to help his Sky on the teenager's terms. There wasn't anything Lussuria could do about his Sky's existing trauma –much as he would have liked to slowly reduce Don Vongola to a drooling vegetable– but he could ensure Boss-honey didn't get re-traumatised on his watch.

"Florrie?"

"What about her, honey-bunch?"

Boss shuddered. "Where–? Is she–?"

Lussuria guessed that the Cloud had accidentally set Boss-honey off and been the focus of the subsequent explosion; oh _dear_. "She's your Guardian, sweetie-pie," he reminded the Sky gently. "You know where she is and how she's doing. Just feel for her." Not all Skies could do that, but Lussuria knew Boss-honey could because his Flame-senses were exceptional. The Sun waited as his Sky's Flames stopped fluctuating unsteadily, eventually settling slightly as Boss-honey let out a slow, shaky sigh.

"Not dead," he mumbled, "not dying, not Active. God…" The Sky shook, covering his face with blood-smeared hands as he sobbed inaudibly, the horror and relief only perceptible through his Flames.

That sounded _much_ worse than Lussuria had suspected; nonetheless, he waited until Boss-honey had come out the other side of this particular emotional squall before speaking up again. Being allowed to be present while Boss-honey was in pieces was already much, much more than he'd _ever_ been allowed before and he wasn't going to have the Sky regretting it.

"How can I help, Boss-honey?"

The Sky shakily levered himself into a sitting position, leaning into the Sun Officer with his head bowed. "Fucked up," he admitted quietly, Flames twisting with self-loathing. "Told Florrie to go jump off a cliff and she–" his voice cracked "–she _left_."

Oh _dear_. There were multiple unfortunate implications there; Boss-honey having driven a Cloud out of her own Territory, for one; him possibly having leaned on his Flames to influence her for another. Yes, Guardian bonds did offer a degree of protection from that kind of thing, but Florrie was Latent so she wouldn't necessarily be able to recognise the influence for what it was and draw upon the resilience needed to ignore it. Never mind the broken glass, which suggested Boss-honey had been throwing things at his Cloud as well; regardless of her affinity Florrie was a civilian, and a young, untrained woman facing off against an angry assassin over thirty centimetres taller and far stronger than her would be acutely aware of how outmatched and threatened she was.

No use crying over spilt milk though; Lussuria resolved to be practical. "Could you send Bester after her, Boss-honey?" he asked, keeping an arm wrapped around the Sky's back. The liger was inordinately fond of the Cloud and Florrie had a very limited understanding of how closely wielder and Box Weapon were connected, so she wouldn't even think to take out her frustrations on the big cat.

"Yes." There was a flash of Flame and the kitchen was full of cat, which ignored both of them entirely in favour of jumping out of the window. _Through_ the window; Lussuria winced at the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood as the liger vanished from view.

"I think it might be best to get somebody from Housekeeping down here later to tidy up," the Sun commented ruefully. "I really didn't think that through; sorry, Boss-honey."

His Sky didn't comment, still leaning into him, the only sounds the steady susurrus of rain through the thoroughly broken window and Boss-honey's deliberately steady breathing. Lussuria kept his Flames flowing over his Sky's, waiting patiently until Boss-honey's Flames stopped swirling restlessly and started reaching out, mingling with his. Suppressing his relieved smile, the Sun set about soothing his patient's brain chemistry and dissolving the lactic acid building up in tense muscles; Boss-honey's scars would need attention too.

"Thank-you, Boss-honey," he murmured, taking care to keep a light touch on the brain chemistry; stabilisation was one thing, manipulation was another matter entirely.

"Trying not to be my own worst enemy for a change," the Sky muttered sardonically, eyes firmly closed.

Lussuria could have said quite a lot in response to _that_ but refrained; Boss-honey very definitely had all kinds of issues with his self-image –more things to slowly and messily incapacitate Don Vongola for– but commenting on them would _not_ be helpful at this juncture. The Sky was already doing _much_ better than he had been –witness him actually asking for help– so saying anything that could be misconstrued would do nobody any good.

"Can I see your hands, Boss-honey? You're bleeding." Not seriously –most of the blood was already dry– but that was no reason not to treat the injuries.

The Sky shoved both hands at him; judging by the slice right through the meat of his thumb and across his right palm, the Sky had crushed the plate in his hand, then dropped the shards afterwards. Along with the bruising on his knees and the heels of both hands, it implied he'd been standing up holding the plate when the panic attack started, then broken it either as or just before he collapsed.

Lussuria cleaned the cuts with wipes from his first-aid kit and then sealed them with a flicker of Flames; skin and muscle tissue were an easy fix. Bruising was not, but he could at least keep them from spreading further by healing the blood vessels and soothing the swelling. Boss-honey didn't so much as twitch, so the Sun set the Sky's hands back in his lap and reached up to rest his fingertips under the younger man's chin, his Flames sliding up to twist Sky with his Sun and carefully going to work on the –currently visible– livid scars bisecting Boss-honey's face.

Boss-honey cooperated without a word; Lussuria suspected he was grateful for the distraction. The Sun sat in silence on the scorched tile floor for almost half an hour, his Sky leaning into him and the two of them completely focused on gently dissolving the woven collagen fibres under Boss-honey's skin and encouraging new tissue to form. Lussuria suspected that his GMs' trick of using a touch of Storm with their Sun to inflict deep tissue damage could be modified to mitigate scarring, but he wasn't going to suggest it to Boss-honey just yet. Not when the Sky was so very private about his injuries; better to leave it until Boss-honey was fully recovered and started thinking about how to make the process reproducible for other patients.

Having got to the end of as much as could safely be achieved in one session, the Sun was trying to think of what to say next when his phone rang; why was Squ-chan calling him?

"Hellooo there Squ! How's the mission going?" It wasn't actually a mission, just keeping an eye on the baby Guardians while they visited Alliance Dons and tried to make a good impression. This was the last day; Squ had been seeing them to the airport and onto their flight.

"Dino's taking care of it," Lussuria's fellow Officer said shortly; "I'm heading back early. D'you know what Boss's up to, voi?"

Squ always claimed that his stump ached when Boss-honey was in serious trouble; it seemed this counted. "He's right here, Squ," the Sun said, then lost his phone as the Sky snatched it out of his hand.

"Shark."

A pause; Lussuria virtuously made an effort not to eavesdrop.

"Miscalculated." Another, shorter pause. "Find Florrie." Boss-honey then shoved the phone back at Lussuria, rose to his feet and trudged out of the kitchen; the Sun put the phone to his ear as he watched the Sky lock himself into his Cloud's bathroom. Well, a shower could only help…

"Squ?"

"Voi! What happened?"

"I'm not sure cupcake," the Sun Officer admitted quietly, "but there's a lot of broken glass and he said he told her to jump off a cliff." Why the Sky had done so was yet to be determined.

There was a thump in the background at the other end of the phone line; probably Squ punching something with his prosthetic. "Voi, I'll be up there in less than fifteen minutes; she shouldn't be too hard to find." Squ was not far behind Bel and Boss-honey in how keen his Flame-senses were and the Rain knew his fellow Guardian well enough to be able to track her through the shared bonds to their Sky. Luss wasn't bonded and knew his tracking skills were not the best, so it was a relief that he wouldn't have to suggest bringing anybody else in to do that.

"Boss-honey already sent Bester after her," the Sun Officer added scrupulously.

"Even easier." The Rain Officer hung up; Lussuria pocketed the phone, got to his feet and went looking for a broom. There was no reason to leave Florrie's home in such a mess when a little bit of work would make a big difference.

* * *

Squalo cursed the persistent rain as he hiked down the hillside past the farm; following Florrie would have been a challenge, but Bester was anything but subtle and had the advantage of being able to directly follow the Guardian bond binding Boss to his Cloud. He very much wanted to head into the farmstead and dig out of his Sky what had happened exactly, but that was just his frustration speaking; going by what Luss had said Boss wouldn't answer that anyway –not yet at least– so his best bet was to find Florrie and get her side of things.

It wasn't easy walking away from his Sky when he could feel the echoes of Boss's distress lingering around the farm, but Boss had asked him to find his fellow Guardian so Squalo would. To make sure she hadn't actually jumped off a cliff and was all in one piece, because if she wasn't then they'd have _much_ more to worry about than Boss's mental health suffering a temporary setback. Well at least Bronco was currently shoving sword-brat and the girl on a plane back to Japan; they had school starting Monday and it being Holy Friday tomorrow, there were no more meetings set up in the gap between then and today.

Following the path through the scrub and shaking his wet hair out of his eyes _again_ , Squalo tried to strangle the uneasy voice in the back of his head that wanted to point out that there were indeed cliffs out along this particular route; most of the mountainside the Varia was built near the top of was just steep, but out along the western side there were a few cliffs of varying heights, none of which would kill you if you fell off them –unless you were very unlucky– but more than high enough to result in fairly serious injuries if you didn't know how to fall safely or hit rocks either on your way down or at the bottom.

Florrie was a civilian; Squalo very much doubted she knew anything about falling properly. Which was something he might be able to talk her into rectifying, provided she was willing to forgive Boss for whatever had led up to this.

Rounding a corner and half-sliding down a muddy slope, the Rain Officer found Bester pacing restlessly across a patch of meadow, ears flat, tail thrashing and whining unhappily, the drizzle forming droplets on his fur. The cause of this abject feline discomfort was visible a few metres past the liger; a hunched figure in a red jumper sitting on the very edge of the cliff, dark braid slick with water and hair plastered flat against her skull.

Squalo felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as he realised she had her feet dangling over the drop; that was a bad, bad position to fall from. These cliffs also weren't massively sturdy; the edges gave way every few years, raining down rocks on the lower stretches on mountainside. That was why Bester was keeping well back from the precipice despite clearly wanting to sink his teeth into the back of Florrie's jumper and drag her to safety; the liger weighed easily seven or eight times what the Cloud did, so while she might be fine sitting where she was, adding that much extra weight could easily cause the rock beneath her to shatter and collapse.

Squalo strode through the scrubby grass towards the drop, stopping a decent way off to the side so Florrie would be able to see him in her peripheral vision. "Voi," he said flatly, knowing his voice was loud enough to carry even through the persistent rain.

No answer; not even a twitch. Squalo sighed; he really was not cut out for this but she didn't _feel_ suicidal, so that was something. "Are you going to sit there all day?" He asked.

"I'm tempted."

Well, it _was_ an answer. Better than nothing, certainly. "So what happened?"

"He didn't tell you?"

"He just asked me to find you." Which was entirely true; it had been Luss who mentioned the jumping off cliffs thing.

"Well you've found me." She didn't need to say 'now go away;' Squalo could hear it loud and clear in her tone.

"What Dumb shit did he do this time, voi?" He asked instead, keeping his tone conciliatory.

"He accused me of manipulating him and undermining him," Florrie said softly, naked hurt in every line of her body, "then of lying when I denied it."

That really was massively Stupid and proof that Boss had not been thinking remotely clearly when making those accusations; their Sky was good enough with his Flames to be able to _see_ when people were lying to him. That he'd accused her in the first place said that he'd already been in the midst of some kind of breakdown; an emotional flashback maybe? Something Florrie had said or done reminding him of some trash who'd messed him about when he was younger?

Whatever; that wasn't the issue at hand. "You going to let him apologise?"

The Cloud sighed, hanging her head. "It's that or jumping off the cliff, I suppose."

"Voi, if you want to die that badly there are more reliable and less messy ways to do it than throwing yourself off there!"

She actually laughed. "Am I offending your professional sensibilities, Squalo?"

Not really, but that was an angle he could work with. "Seriously though, you jump and it probably won't kill you but you'll be a fucking mess for months," he said vehemently. "If you're that keen to get out of being Boss's Guardian pick something faster that won't break half your bones along the way."

"Do you always call him that?"

Squalo could hear the layers in that question making it less of a deflection than it appeared to be. "It's who he is to me; who he wants to be to me," he replied. "I took over the Varia then gave it to him; I _want_ to follow where he leads."

"Sounds lonely," Florrie said quietly. "Not at all like family should be."

Squalo wasn't sure what to do with that observation. One the one hand, yes he could see her point. On the other they all lived where they worked, so there wasn't exactly much space for a less formal relationship to develop in their off-time. Something to look into, maybe?

"Come home, please?" He requested simply. "Make him grovel if you want, but don't hold it over his head like this. He's had enough of that already." From Nono first and foremost, but Don Vongola had by no means been the only one.

"He told me to jump off a cliff," Florrie said, her tone distant but with an edge lurking underneath. "He knows I struggle with suicidal ideation involving high places and long drops and he told me to _jump_ off a _cliff_."

Well shit. "Do you want me to punch him for you, voi?" Dumbass Sky certainly deserved it.

The Cloud laughed again, the sound wild and sharp. "Not this time, I think," she admitted, pulling up her legs and _finally_ retreating back to firmer ground. Bester lunged forwards and circled around behind her as soon as there was more than a metre between her and the edge, physically blocking off any chance of her changing direction as he nuzzled her hands and herded her back to the path.

Squalo had to admit to himself that it would be nice if he could get away with clinging like that for a bit; seeing her perched on that cliff edge had wound all his nerves tight and they were unlikely to settle again for some time.

"Hey there," Florrie murmured to Bester, rubbing the big cat behind the ears. "Sorry for worrying you; I had a lot to think about."

"We can still wait a bit before going back if you'd rather, voi," Squalo offered. Now she wasn't making his nerves twang he didn't mind taking things a little slow.

"No, let's go back," she replied, shaking her head. "I'm cold and wet and I've probably already caught a chill; making myself more ill won't make things any better."

Bester pressed up against her hip and back, clearly wanting to warm her up but not having much to work with due to them having to walk back up the hill. Squalo couldn't really lend her his jacket either; it wouldn't do her any good at this point. Flames on the other hand… "Voi, I can warm you up with Flames if you like," he offered. Rain Flames weren't the most effective there, but they were still good enough to ward off hypothermia and exposure.

Florrie offered him a clammy hand. "Please. Anything that means I won't spend the rest of today and all of tomorrow feeling queasy."

Well that was a clear invitation; Squalo took her hand in his as they set off back up the hillside, making an effort to kick her body's thermostat a little higher and force the water out of her clothes and hair while he was at it. She wasn't even wearing proper shoes and her socks were soaked through; no wonder she was freezing. How long had she been sitting there? An hour? Longer?

* * *

Feeling the shark walk past the building on his way to find Florrie had helped Xanxus finish pulling himself back together. Yes, he was still a complete mess and different bits of his brain were all arguing with each-other about what had actually happened and what it would take for Florrie to forgive him, but he was actually _functional_ now. The shower had helped there, as had the change of clothes sitting in Florrie's wardrobe; he'd shredded three feathers during his panic attack but those would be easy to replace.

Less easily replaced were the drinking glass and carafe he'd thrown at the wall, the plate he'd dropped, the entire kitchen window – _really_ hadn't thought that through– and his Cloud Guardian's trust.

Xanxus was trying not to think about that last one, because if he did he was likely to get unreasonably paranoid or go into another self-destructive spiral. He didn't know how Florrie was going to react. He didn't even know how badly he'd upset her in the first place, as he'd been too consumed by his own anger and misplaced sense of betrayal to get a read on her at all. He was better off using the time he had to tidy up, call Housekeeping about fixing the window and sort out some food, because his friend hadn't eaten yet and it was getting on for two in the afternoon.

It turned out Luss had already swept up the larger shards of glass, mopped up the spilt lemonade and found the vacuum cleaner, so all Xanxus was left with was the window and cooking. He solved the window problem by removing the destroyed frame from the wall entirely –from outside the house– picking up as much of the glass as he could find so it wouldn't get accidentally stepped on, then temporarily blocking the gaping hole where the window had been with some plastic sheeting from the barn and duct tape to keep the rain out. It was only for a few hours; Housekeeping didn't have any windows like this on hand because civilian windows were not designed to be bulletproof –well not usually anyway– so somebody had to go down to the nearest town and buy the required supplies from a builder's merchant. Once they had the parts they could come back up here, rescue the locking mechanism from the ruined frame and fit everything together so his friend's house was airtight again.

Or so Xanxus hoped; he didn't actually know very much about construction. Still, Housekeeping were very good at what they did and him fretting would not change matters. Which –after drying off again– left him with the cooking to do.

He did not open the fridge. Opening the fridge right now would crack his composure like a knife through eggshell. Luckily for him there was a large bowl of lentils soaking on a shelf in the pantry, along with a selection of root vegetables in a crate on the floor; he knew how to turn those into soup and his friend had clearly been planning to do so, so he could do it for her.

Luss thankfully did not comment on Xanxus chopping vegetables, boiling up the lentils, poking about in Florrie's limited spice selection and dashing briefly out into the garden for fresh herbs; the Sun just vacuumed around him, then asked for his boots so as to flick any bits of glass out of the soles.

Xanxus knew exactly why his Cloud cooked when she was wrestling with a difficult problem; he holed himself up in his forge for exactly the same reasons. He wasn't anywhere near as comfortable in the kitchen as she was, but he'd watched Florrie make lentil soup a dozen times and it wasn't hard.

Fry the onion and garlic in the oil and spices until soft, add the finely-chopped root vegetables and herbs, stir. Keep stirring occasionally until the vegetables were lightly browned all over then add a stock cube dissolved in some boiling water. Add a tin of chopped tomatoes; stir again and bring back to the boil. Ignore while you rinsed the cooked lentils under the tap, then add the lentils to the soup and stir again. Turn right down to a simmer and ignore for another half-hour; serve.

There was half a loaf of bread in the pantry and plenty of butter, both of which Florrie considered vital for the proper enjoyment of soup. Xanxus personally preferred a soup made with a proper meat stock of boiled bones rather than a shop-bought cube, but any recently-made stock would be in the fridge and… no. Not right now. The cube would be fine. His friend wouldn't care.

The soup had only been simmering for five minutes when Squalo, Bester and Florrie re-entered his sensing range; Xanxus promptly decided to wash up rather than pace up and down or head out to meet them –it was still raining and they were clearly all physically fine– and had the knife, chopping board, bowl and other pan all dried up and put away by the time his Guardians and Box Animal were walking into the farmyard.

The soup still had ten minutes left to cook, but keeping it on the heat for longer than that wouldn't do it any harm; Xanxus quickly turned it down just in case then went to open the door.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

Squalo watched Boss blink, visibly taken aback by Florrie's opening conversational gambit, which took place right as she stepped onto the front mat, barely giving Boss time to absorb Bester back into his ring.

"My parents argue," the Cloud went on, her voice flat, "loudly. And after really bad fights my Mum would yell at my Dad that she might as well just go and throw herself under a bus, then slam the door on her way out the house and not come back for hours. I'd be sitting in my room, unable to _not_ listen, terrified that would be my last memory of her. It's a shitty thing to do and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left." Her shoulders sagged as she wrapped her arms defensively around her middle, making her look even more pitiful than she did already. "I… sorry."

"I chased you out of your own house and _you're_ sorry?" Squalo did not wince at the way his Sky's voice cracked; instead he caught Luss's eye and jerked his head towards the open door. No fool, the Sun caught on immediately:

"We're going now; see you later honey-buns!"

Squalo let himself be hustled out of the building and up the path towards the Varia by his fellow Officer. "Voi, how is he?"

"Better than he used to be, considering he texted me _while_ he was having a panic attack," Luss said very quietly, "and actually let me ease him through the aftermath. Yes it _is_ a nasty setback considering how well he's been doing, but he's got a much healthier system for working through things now and it shows. He also went straight for the shower once he was mobile, changed clothes –did you know he keeps a few changes at Florrie's, Squ? I didn't– and threw himself into cooking like he barricades himself in his forge."

None of the Officers really talked about Boss's flashbacks and panic attacks, but they all knew on some level that they happened; everybody in the Varia had bad days sometimes and nobody talked about them much. After the bad ones Boss usually holed up in his rooms and drunk more than usual, throwing things at anybody who tried to get near him for the next few days. The milder ones made him irritable or introspective, both moods which the Sky worked through by locking himself in his forge and making weapons. Which recently had started including Box Weapon frames; Boss had eight of those lined up now, finished save for the animal that needed to be added to complete them.

Squalo was possibly a little bit concerned why Boss thought the Varia needed eight new Box Weapons. Well, nine; Boss had actually completed the first one –with a box jellyfish, the fuck– for Sumu during a mission to the Philippines at the tail-end of February. Lessi of course _loved_ her horrendously venomous new pet and had been happily terrorising her Division with it for the entire past month. In the name of science and self-improvement, of course.

"So yes, this _is_ utter shit, but overall it's less of a problem than it used to be," Squalo summarised.

"There's still a lot hanging on whether he manages to reconcile properly with Florrie," the Sun warned, frowning unhappily behind his sunglasses, "and how long it takes for her to be properly comfortable around him again. He threw a glass at her and she's a _civilian_ ; she doesn't have the self-defence training to be confident in her ability to dodge properly or block a strike. Plus, well, the whole issue of Boss being a man, considerably taller than her and generally intimidating, even without his being an assassin too."

Yes, that was a good point wasn't it. "She didn't seem frightened when I talked to her," Squalo said slowly, thinking back, "just angry and hurt. I get the impression she's used to shouting matches." Which was a good thing, because when Boss was coming apart at the seams a bit he _always_ shouted; Florrie flinching whenever he raised his voice would be bad for both of them as Boss _hated_ it when people flinched.

"Well we'll find out soon enough," the Sun conceded with a sigh. "Have you had lunch yet, Squ?"

"Voi, I could eat."

"Let's do that then; smelling that soup Boss was cooking has made me hungry."

* * *

Florrie hadn't taken her eyes off him as the front door was yanked closed behind Luss and the shark; Xanxus tried desperately to get his thoughts in order.

She'd apologised? He'd– well he'd– she'd just walked in the door and _apologised_? Sincerely even?

"I treated you like shit," he tried again, "why are _you_ apologising?"

Florrie smiled up at him, the expression small and achingly sad. "You treating me like shit is no excuse for me to treat you like shit back," she said softly. "Yes, you were wrong and shouldn't have said any of that. But that doesn't make it okay for me to be cruel to you. So I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Xanxus admitted, tangled and conflicting emotions making it difficult for him to focus and breathe evenly. "I'm sorry for shouting and throwing the glass at you and calling you a liar; you weren't lying and I knew that. I just…" he shook his head sharply; "it doesn't matter. I'm sorry. And I'm so, so sorry for telling you to–"

Florrie stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his ribs and hugging him. "It's okay; I forgive you," she assured him as he quickly hugged her back, tremendously relieved that things were going to be okay.

"And I'm sorry for saying all that stupid shit about you undermining me," Xanxus continued doggedly, wanting it all out of the way as soon as possible. "You weren't and I can't tell you what to say to people. I was just being Dumb."

"You weren't being dumb Xanxus," his friend contradicted softly, going up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck, "you were upset. What upset you?"

Oh boy. Xanxus lifted her up off the ground, wrapping his arms under her thighs to give himself a little thinking space.

"I thought you'd been talking to people behind my back and undermining me," he said slowly. "The old fart used to do that, talking about me and what I was doing to people and giving it his own spin, which everybody then took as fact because they thought he was my father so of course he'd know me best. He then denied it; well, denied putting his own slant on things or told me that what he thought I was doing was what I'd actually been doing and scolding me for lying. I got so angry."

"You had every right to be angry with him for that," Florrie said quietly, her head resting on his shoulder as she relaxed into him.

"Everybody at the Varia signs a contract," Xanxus went on, chasing the train of thought, "so they _can't_ talk like that about a fellow member. My Officers included. But you haven't signed anything, so you could. If you wanted to."

"And you're afraid of me doing that," Florrie concluded, "because the shit who raised you taught you that people who call themselves your family will undermine you if they can and then lie about it to your face while gaslighting you."

"Yeah." That exactly; Xanxus turned his face to rest his forehead against his friend's damp hair. She wasn't as soaked through as he'd expected her to be after well over an hour out in the rain, but he could also feel the shark's Flames on her, which suggested she'd had a helping hand drying off on the way back.

"So because you were expecting that to happen, me saying what I did made you assume that was what _had_ happened," his friend sighed, wrapping her legs around his waist. "So you reacted accordingly."

"Hm. Sorry." Xanxus didn't feel like he could apologise too much at this point.

"Trust is really hard," Florrie murmured after a long pause. "Trusting someone means getting hurt when they inevitably make mistakes." Xanxus cringed internally at that reminder of how badly he'd just fucked up; knowing that his friend had on some level been _expecting_ it did not make it any better.

"I have a little voice in the back of my mind constantly assuming the worst," his friend continued quietly, "because growing up I got hurt a lot by my parents. Mostly emotionally, because both of them had shitty childhoods so had no clue how to parent appropriately and were making it up as they went along, repeating their own parents' mistakes half the time and making new ones the other half. So I'm always expecting to get hurt by the people who say they care about me. It makes things really hard and I have to keep reminding myself not to listen to it."

Another shitty thing they had in common then. "I hate it," Xanxus confessed to the back of his friend's head, shifting her weight a little so he could free a hand and fiddle with her hanging braid. "I feel like shit for doubting you and assuming you'd treat me like that."

"It's not you, it's your upbringing speaking," Florrie contradicted firmly. "Say the thoughts out loud then disown them as lies. Hearing them makes it easier to recognise the lies. Yes, we _are_ going to hurt each-other but it's going to be mostly by accident and I'm going to do my best to never lie to you. Lies are stupid and terrible and make everything worse."

"My Cloud Guardian is colluding with my subordinates to undermine me," Xanxus said experimentally, then snorted; "you're right, that's a really Stupid lie. I can hear it so why can't I see that in my head?"

"Brains are weird," Florrie replied, shrugging. "What's the nice smell?"

"I cooked soup." It would be ready to eat now.

"Squalo mostly dried me off with his Flames on the walk back but everything still feels uncomfortable," his friend told him, sitting up in his arms and making eye-contact. "Let me down so I can get changed into something warmer before eating the very tasty soup you've made."

Xanxus kissed his Cloud and set her back on her feet. "Thank you."

"I love you too," she told him, smiling warmly before heading out of the kitchen. Xanxus watched her go, then dug about in the cupboards for crockery –he owed her a plate– then got out the bread knife and a board and went looking for the butter and loaf he'd seen earlier. The steak had been a while back and the soup did smell pretty good.

* * *

Xanxus opened his eyes and rolled over, burying his face in the pillows. On the one hand, he hadn't had that shitty dream. On the other he was tired, irritable and the very _idea_ of having to be in the same room as other people made him want to throw things; he hadn't even got up yet!

He knew why he felt like shit –yesterday's flashback to betrayal trauma followed by a panic attack over Florrie possibly leaving him and the subsequent difficult conversations– but that didn't make it any easier to get over it. He still wanted to throw things and hole up somewhere private for a few days until he felt less raw and scraped.

He didn't want to be at the Varia, surrounded by subordinates goofing off or doing whatever they were doing for Holy Week. He wanted to be somewhere he could just lay on the couch and be left alone without it getting commented on and whispered about and people trying to spy on him for whatever Dumb reason. Somewhere quiet he couldn't _feel_ all the Dumb and petty going on around him.

Xanxus rolled over the other way onto his back, dragged an arm up over his eyes and groaned; he wanted to spend the day on Florrie's couch, being ignored as she did her own thing for Holy Friday but allowed to speak up or join in if it suited him. It was restful watching his Cloud get on with her own life around him like he was scenery, an assurance that he belonged so completely that his presence could pass without comment or accommodation with the implication that if he wanted anything, he just had to ask. Or even get up and fix it for himself; whichever he preferred.

Either way, it would be a thousand times less annoying than having to get through all the people in the building he was currently in if he so much as wanted a glass of _water_. Part of why he drank when he was irritable was that the alcohol cupboard was right there and did not require human interaction to access.

 _You know what? Fuck that._

Xanxus crawled out of bed, pulled on the mostly-clean clothes he'd changed into yesterday afternoon after his shower, shoved his feet into his boots, grabbed his go bag –paused to shove his cuddly tiger into it since Florrie's sitting room wasn't really large enough for Bester if anybody wanted to move around– and headed out, going for the office window rather than the door. Once he was outside he could slip back in the front door to switch his name from the 'In' board to the 'Out' board then make good his escape.

Hopefully his friend would be happy to ignore him for the day, but if having him in her space was a bit much after yesterday then he could lie outside in the orchard instead. She never minded him doing that, not even on her bad days. It wasn't like it was cold or raining today.

* * *

"Are you sure this is okay? I mean, considering the rumours and all."

Tsue rolled her eyes. "Yes, I double-checked with Mammon earlier; no worries. Bear in mind that if we bail Fuseau and all of Information will rain down bloody hell on us for depriving them of the hot cross buns sheila said she was baking this morning, since we've teed-up and that means nobody else is allowed to lob in." Filo was still an apprentice but he was almost Quality now and she was looking forward to cutting him loose come summer. Not that he wasn't a grouse bastard, but when a sheila had a mob of Mists to manage then she didn't have time for clucky.

"Boss is in there," Essaim added flatly as Viti and Vyti eyed the house warily.

"Then he already knows we're within cooee and will get cranky if we do the Harold," the Squad Leader said briskly, marching up to the front door and knocking sharply. "Quit whinging, she'll be right."

Her three Mists were all looking sprung; Tsue ignored the galahs in favour of the sheila opening the door. "G'day mate!" she said cheerfully. "Tucker smells ace!"

"Thanks," the Cloud said with a quick grin, hands covered in flour. "Sort your own drinks, I'm elbow-deep in baking. Kettle's freshly boiled though, so help yourselves."

"No worries!" Tsue assured her. "Need an offsider?"

The sheila flapped a hand at her, turning back inside. "Nah," she said easily, "I'm fine."

Tsue strolled confidently into the kitchen, her four wusses scuttling after her. Seriously, Boss got even crankier when you cowered and made a point of getting you up for it; they were Quality and should act it!

There wasn't anybody else in the kitchen, just a heap of the promised hot cross buns both cooling on racks and lined up to go in the oven. Tsue did as ordered and helped herself to tea; she wouldn't have minded a coldie but Boss's Cloud never had any alcohol around the place. She then commandeered one of the chairs, since she was in charge of this mob; the other four settled against the walls and tried to look less like they wanted to shoot through. She'd only teed-up because they were a bunch of stickybeaks; of course Boss'd be here sometimes, the sheila was his Guardian! Wusses.

Officer called the sheila 'advisor;' wasn't a Name since she wasn't Varia Quality, but it was definitely something. Prince the Ripper called most people 'peasant' after all, so sheila's blood was worth bottling even if she wasn't quite Quality.

Their host pulled a tray of buns out of the oven, shook them onto a rack and loaded up another batch for baking, then after the new batch were in the oven she shuffled a dozen of the slightly cooler buns off the rack onto a tea towel, poked the hot ones around so they had space to cool properly and dumped the laden tea towel on the table. "Here; they're called hot cross buns for a reason," she said briskly, leaning past Vyti into the pantry and pulling out the butter. "Help yourselves."

Tsue's Squad was all teenagers; they weren't ever going to turn down tucker, especially not freshly-baked hot cross buns. They were all gone in less than ten minutes and then her mob got chatty and incautious.

"So Boss is–"

"Not here," the Cloud interrupted shortly, cutting another batch of dough into rolls.

"Really?" Viti asked, a gleam in his eye indicating he knew somebody was telling porkies.

"It's Good Friday and nobody's working," the sheila said briskly, adding the crosses. "No bosses in the building."

Good on her for knocking back; Tsue had seen a lot of Vongola shite as a senior Squad Leader and Boss deserved somebody in his corner telling everyone to shove it. "No worries," she said agreeably, not wanting their host to tell them to rack off.

The Cloud settled again once it was clear nobody was going to throw a wobbly over her suspiciously specific denial and Essaim managed to strike up a conversation about bees and possibly putting a beehive in her orchard, which kept things right friendly until their host pulled another tray of buns out of the oven, Boss walked into the kitchen and her Mists abruptly ran out of words.

Tsue ignored the Sky; Boss already knew they were there and sheila had said he was off-duty, so making a big deal would be rude.

"More tea?" Cloud asked as Boss stole one of the fresh buns and ripped it open. The Sky nodded; his Guardian filled up the kettle and stuck it on the hob, then nudged him out of her way as she went back to loading the next batch of buns into the oven. Boss let himself be shoved, half a bun sticking out of his mouth as he fossicked in one of the cupboards, then piked with a box of tea, ignoring the rest of them and stealing another two piping hot buns on his way past.

It was good to see Boss acting like a proper teenager rather than being on his best behaviour all the time; Tsue grinned at the gobsmacked looks on her mugs' faces and sipped her tea smugly. Thought they knew better than her, did they?

She'd be able to tell the rest of the Ladies that Boss's new Guardian was dinky-di and a corker of a sheila; they knew that already of course, but it was good to confirm things.

* * *

May was the month of weeding, or at least it felt like it to Xanxus; almost every morning he went down to see Florrie she was in the vegetable garden, either with a hoe or on her knees meticulously clearing the ground by hand. He generally joined in; it wasn't possible to have a proper conversation with his Cloud while she was focused on weeding and if he helped then the task was over in half the time and with half the effort, meaning his friend had both the time and the energy to have fun with him afterwards. He'd started taking her out around the surrounding countryside on his motorbike, buying her lunch in various different bars and restaurants and eating ice cream in different villages and roadside cafes, just to get her away from the farm and the endless work.

Not that Florrie seemed to mind the work most days; she had a routine and steadily chipped away at everything that needed doing, following the calendar hanging on the wall and completing each task as it came up. She got a surprising amount of other things done too; sketches and watercolours, the quilting, more origami –they were all around the house now, tucked inside picture frames and stuck on the doors with blu-tack– along with all the mundane domestic necessities of laundry, cooking and cleaning.

'Most days' wasn't _every_ day though; every now and then Xanxus would show up at the farm and find his friend lying on the sofa, listening to music and doing nothing at all. Those were the days when he got a chance to pay his friend back for all her kindness and care by taking on the chores himself, bringing her drinks and listening attentively as she stumbled through whatever was troubling her. Or just offering comfort; it was a rare occasion that Florrie would turn down a hug and on the days when she was really run down –generally due to having slightly overdone things for several days running– they just lay on the sofa together, listened to music and snuggled.

The thing Xanxus was going to miss most about her going home was not being able to visit her whenever he wanted to. Right now he could finish his paperwork, leave the Varia and then spend the rest of the day with his friend, easily found by his men if an emergency came up but thoroughly inaccessible to the old fart. With Florrie no longer living within walking distance of the Varia he'd get out of the building less, meaning he would be more likely to be in when the old fart called about whatever it was he wanted to con Xanxus into doing this time.

He definitely needed to buy himself someplace else. He should talk to Squalo and possibly to Luss about it; they were his Guardians, they should get a say. As should Bel; the Storm might not understand his reasoning but that was no reason to exclude him. Mammon would of course be involved because finding another property would involve spending money and all his money was being invested and monitored by the miser; that was a given.

How much money did he have these days anyway? He'd not exactly bothered to look at his investments since getting defrosted. He probably should; it would give him a better idea of what he had to work with.

It was almost six weeks since he'd last been in the field; Recruitment was at its busiest and Lightning Division were in a bit of a rough spot, so the Varia Boss was staying close to home. There'd been nothing serious so far, mainly because Xanxus had been in –or near– the building for every single crisis and meltdown suffered by one of his men and had been able to offer solutions, strategies and reassurance before things could escalate –or collapse– too messily. Xanxus didn't begrudge his Lightnings the time or the effort; mafia Lightning training was a shitshow and that they felt safe enough to actually face up to how bad things were was actually encouraging. Being able to help and put his reading to good use for other people made it feel all the more worthwhile; he wasn't just fixing himself, he was now better able to help his men as well. Being the good Boss he knew they deserved.

The long stretch of time sticking close to home also provided the perfect opportunity for him to sit the various exams for a proper Baccalaureate; the Varia Boss did so in disguise, only the Academy's head teacher aware of his identity as she was the one who needed to sign off the certificate at the end. It would be a while before he knew how well he'd done there, but he was optimistic –the tests weren't hard, not even the oral examinations– and had a few things lined up regardless of his grades.

It also gave him time to think about what animals he wanted to complete the Box Weapons he'd been making, as well as put together a few more frames. The practice was improving his understanding of the weapons' inner workings and enabling him to make alterations and improvements; he was currently working on a low-energy frame that would hopefully be able to work off just a Guardian bond and Latent Flames.

He was also working on a Flame Inverter; that was taking longer though, because he had to space it out and set it aside every time his nerves wound too tight. But he was still making progress –however glacial– and that was what mattered.

* * *

"Xanxus?"

The Sky glanced down at his Cloud, who was squinting up at him from where she was trimming the herbs for drying. "Hm?"

"Is it just the light or are your scars fading?"

"Not the light." The difference in his face was visible now; it was a lot slower-going that his arms and back had been, due to all the nerves and Luss wanting to take things carefully, but progress was progress. His Sun Officer was at least alternating working on his face with helping along the even more delicate tissues on and around his groin, although the possibility of doing something about his eye was being put off until last. That it might actually be possible to do anything at all there was very hopeful though and Xanxus was willing to wait for it. It would be nice to be able to see clearly out of his right eye without relying on Mist-tricks to make up the difference, as while his Flame-senses were sharp enough to let him fight half-blind they didn't make reading paperwork any easier.

Florrie got to her feet, shucking her gloves and reaching up to grab his head so she could tug his face down closer to her eye level; Xanxus let her, not moving away as her fingers danced across his cheekbones.

"Is it helping?"

That was not the question he'd expected her to ask. It was in fact a question he'd not actually considered she might ask, or even thought about at all. Was it helping? Did he feel better about himself for doing this?

"Yeah."

"Then I'm glad you're doing it." She went up on tiptoes to kiss him just to the right of the bridge of his nose, in the middle of where the worst scarring had been. "Also, you're freckling." A fingertip ghosted along his brow line, clearly following a trail of speckles.

Xanxus groaned quietly. "Not sure why," he complained. "Happening everywhere the scars were." He and Luss had been tweaking the procedure for different effects as they went along, as some scars ran deeper or involved more complicated areas –where his arm had been re-attached for instance; he was currently having to relearn how to use his hand yet _again_ but it was worth it for the increase in dexterity– including the many places where the ice had gone beyond the thin layer of skin and bitten into muscle tissue, which had happened a lot on his face, but all the renewed skin freckled. Luss had some thoughts on evening out his skin tone later if Xanxus wanted to, but for now he was focusing on minimising the scarring. Xanxus hadn't realised quite how much the scars hurt and interfered with his mobility until he'd started taking the illusion off regularly and now he didn't have as many scars immobilising his skin the last few remaining ones were always pulling at something every time he moved. The scar treatment had also relieved an underlying ache that he'd not even noticed until it was gone; he'd been operating at less than his full capacity for _years_ and only just realised it.

"They're adorable," his friend informed him, letting go of his hair with a rather wicked smile on her face, "and now I'm rather interested in seeing how different you look with freckles where the scars used to be."

Which was not-so-oblique Cloud-speak for 'I'm nosy and want to see you naked.' Well, half-naked; Florrie would never ask him to strip completely for her because she wasn't comfortable with the idea of doing it for him and made a point of not asking him for things she wouldn't be prepared to do or say if it was him asking her.

"Don't mind taking my shirt off after we've finished," Xanxus drawled agreeably; it was shaping up to be a very hot day and there was no wind, so he could probably talk Florrie into changing into something skimpier as well. She might not be as hard and toned as a Quality assassin but that didn't mean she wasn't very nice to look at. And wrap his arms around; the softness made her cuddlier, in fact.

That his Cloud was perfectly happy to cuddle with him when mostly naked was a gift, especially since she remained firmly disinterested in sex. Before meeting her Xanxus had never considered that physical intimacy could take place without sex and it had been a wonderful revelation, one he was still exploring and adding to.

It was comfortable being with Florrie; he was going to have to schedule regular visits once she was attending university, as he wasn't at all inclined to miss out just because she was living at the opposite end of Europe.

Two hours later, sprawled on his back on a towel in the shade of the orchard, wearing swimming shorts with an insect-repelling Mist-ward up and Florrie leaning over him, her new yukata loosely belted over her bikini and brow furrowed in fascination as she hunted down every last visible freckle, Xanxus made an effort to fix his utter contentment and quiet joy into his memory. He didn't get many days like this and he was determined to cherish every single one.

* * *

By the tail-end of May Boss had made it up to thirteen vacant Box Weapon frames –the existence of which was causing something of a stir in the Varia's rank and file– when a mission came in from Argentina for the massacre of an entire drug cartel. Those kinds of missions didn't usually get picked up, but whoever had commissioned this one had clearly done their homework as it not only got past Information, but got selected by Boss as one he intended to see to personally.

Boss then tapped five Lightnings and Boom-Boom Squad to help him achieve the desired scorched-earth policy, which wasn't really surprising when he was personally managing Lightning Division these days. What _was_ surprising was that Boss grabbed the case of Box frames along with his go-bag; that made everybody sit up and take notice. Last time Boss had taken a frame out into the field he'd stuffed a sea wasp –as that particular species of box jellyfish was called– into it and given the resulting Box Weapon to the Cloud Officer; that he was taking _thirteen_ this time implied the Sky was planning on arming them with a range of South American wildlife. Several betting pools promptly formed; Squalo ignored them, not even putting money on the completed weapons being handed out to the GMs and Division Squad Leaders on Boss's return.

The Rain Officer did not believe that those Box Weapons would find their way into the hands of the current Division Squad Leaders and General Managers; he knew better. Doing so would be a waste in half those cases.

It had been a decade now since Boss had taken over the Varia; almost ten years since the so-called Cradle Affair. A decade was a long, long time in terms of maintaining Quality and almost all the assassins who'd been part of the Varia when Squalo had killed Tyr were retired or dead now. More significantly, the Division Squad Leaders and GMs who'd risen to prominence during and immediately after Boss's rise to power were all getting to the point of needing to retire; the Storms and Suns especially, as both tended to wear themselves down more than Rains or Mists. Storms because their Flame was corrosive and not even Quality assassins had perfect control; Suns because they generally favoured hand-to-hand and therefore picked up more injuries than any other Flame-type bar the Lightnings.

Cloud Division was a bit of an aberration in terms of ages; it had a handful of veterans and almost everybody else was five or more years younger, the intervening assassins having died when Boss purged the Division following Ottavio's treachery. Clouds were also more varied in terms of specialisations: some favoured hand-to-hand, others specialised in sniping and variations thereof, there were a handful of sabotage specialists and the small but growing faction who were really into chemicals and poisons in the style of their new Officer.

Squalo felt it more likely that the Box Weapons Boss was making would be put into the hands of those who would be replacing several of the current Division Squad Leaders and GMs come Quiet Week. He did not put that down as his bet though; who was retiring when was not something to bandy about, even if he was just airing his suspicions.

The Vongola was heading into a dangerous transition period and the Varia was losing a large number of its most powerful and skilled veterans at the same time; the Box Weapons would give their successors an extra leg up as both highly dangerous tools and a sign of Boss's approval. Not that the retired assassins would be leaving exactly; some were headed for Housekeeping and the rest no further than a house somewhere in Varia Territory. However they'd no longer be involved in the day-to-day running of the Varia and that would make things a little unsteady for some time, as everybody got used to the new people and the changes in how things were done.

So yeah, Squalo could see why his Sky was doing this. Beyond working out a way for a Latent to use a Box Weapon of course; as though Boss was about to let Florrie wander off without being sure she had backup if she needed it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Pick up the pieces (and take stock)**

Just under a week later Squalo was face to face with his GM and said GM's deputy, struggling not to crack up. Glace had a juvenile caiman wrapped around his shins and Joia a penguin leaning against his knee.

"Boss is an asshole," the Rain GM said calmly.

"Like that's news?" Squalo wasn't sure why the other man was surprised; Boss had always been an asshole, it was half of his charm.

"He gave Alizeti a flamingo," Joia said mildly; Squalo couldn't help his involuntary snigger.

"Okay, that's a little above and beyond." Alizeti had waist-length pink hair and looked like a mild glare would make him crumble, but he was in the running for Sun co-GM despite not even being a regular Squad Leader because he was a cunning little monster under the apparent shyness and Luss thought the manipulative tendencies were cute. Bel liked Alizeti too; called him 'Decoy,' which would only help smooth out any issues between Storm and Sun Divisions before said issues got large enough to require the attention of an Officer.

Boss giving the lean pink-haired Sun a leggy pink bird as a Box Weapon was exactly the sort of thing he _would_ do, just because he thought it was funny. "Voi, who else has a Box Weapon now?" Yes, they were rings rather than boxes once completed but 'ring weapons' sounded silly and so did 'box rings'. Also it would be too easy to confuse people about which sort of rings were being referred to; the heirloom family and Family ones and regular Flame Rings were already enough to get people muddled up over.

"Sekti has a Goliath bird-eating spider and Karta has a rhea," Glace shared, ignoring the toothy reptile rubbing its head against his ankles, "Roz has a toucan, Varg has a weird long-legged fox-thing, Mammon and Kuchisake both have moths –different moths admittedly– and Raas has a mouse."

"A mouse," Squalo repeated, tone deadpan. Well, at least Raas wouldn't have any trouble calling it out despite his relatively small reserves… Honestly, Glace should be grateful he hadn't got the mouse as a nod to his apprentice nickname from before he'd earned his Varia Name. Sekti getting something wasn't so surprising either, despite the man being neither GM nor Storm Squad Leader; he was Bel's Manservant, a veteran and basically co-GM despite shying away from any position of official authority.

"There's also a giant lizard Boss managed to turn into a shared Box Weapon for all of Lightning Squad," Joia added, "and a Sky-Jaguar. Strela also mentioned a small black cat and something about hummingbirds, but I don't know what Flame those are as they haven't been handed out. Oh, and Varg's fox-thing is a maned wolf."

"Wolves don't look anything like _that_ ," Glace objected.

"South American wolves do, obviously," Joia said serenely. "Also, Kuchisake's new moths are called great grey witches and Mammon's are polyphemus moths."

"Sekti's already determined who in Storm Division hates spiders and is using it to his advantage," Glace added, smirking.

It was going to be utter chaos as everybody worked out how to fight with their new partners, which would take the better part of a month at the very least. Well, at least it would keep people busy and give them a chance to prove they had what it took for command? "Where's Boss now?"

"Guess," Glace said wryly, bending down and picking up his Box Weapon before it could start actually gnawing on his boots.

Of course Boss would throw Box Weapons around like confetti the moment he got back then bugger off to spend the rest of the afternoon with Florrie; Squalo wasn't sure why he'd expected anything else.

Asshole.

* * *

"Okay, I understand why you want me to be armed," Florrie conceded, "but I still don't _want_ to be armed. Statistically, being armed makes it _more_ likely that I'll get hurt, not less."

Clouds, so resolute and immoveable on their principles; it didn't help that she was right. An unarmed person was a hostage or victim at worst, a non-entity otherwise; an armed person was a threat.

"It's not obviously a weapon," Xanxus coaxed, "and it won't manifest at all unless I pull it out for you or you're in real danger." It had taken a lot of work and lateral thinking, but the kodkod Box Weapon was a Sky-Cloud mix and would emerge in response to Florrie approaching the Activation threshold. "You have to be convinced you might actually die but determined not to let that happen."

His Cloud did not _want_ to be Active, so Xanxus had found a way to ensure she wouldn't ever need to call out her Flames. He'd got the idea from reading about Flame Creep, except that rather than the low-level Flames lingering in the body and damaging the nervous system they'd be channelled into the Box Weapon, triggering its emergence. Which would make it much harder for her to go Flame Active but still not impossible; she'd have to really want it though.

"So it's a…" Florrie turned the ring over in her hand, peering at the design moulded into the metal, "cat?"

"A kodkod," Xanxus corrected. "Chilean forest cat, hunts birds. You using it will draw mainly on my Flames, so I'll know you're in trouble too and can come help." He'd found it in a poaching camp, half-dead in a cage; if he hadn't turned it into a Box Weapon it would have died. Florrie's Flames were just the catalyst for bringing it out, although they'd also enable the kodkod to change size and make the most of its limited reserves through Multiplication and Magnification. He had tested it himself first by feeding it just Cloud Flames and it had worked; the little cat had lasted a bit over an hour in his workshop despite having a fraction of the Flames most Box Weapons needed just to open.

"So it's more of an alarm than a weapon."

"Will actively defend you; responds to your desires, so be careful what you wish for." Xanxus did _not_ want her to misunderstand how dangerous the Box Weapon was, regardless of its small size. "Can set people on fire and sear holes in walls." It ran off his Flames so there was an unavoidable Wrath element; yes, the kodkod was less than a hundredth of the size that Bester was, but that just meant its blast radius was shorter.

His friend chuckled. "You got me a personal defence cat." She glanced up at him, eyes dancing. "Is it hypoallergenic?"

Xanxus snorted. "Made of Flames," he pointed out; he had no idea whether Box Weapons were hypoallergenic as nobody in the Varia was allergic to cats. Well, nobody in the Varia _stayed_ allergic to cats; there were cats everywhere in the building so those assassins who'd arrived with cat allergies either left again before reaching Quality or went to Medical to have their immune system Mist-tricked into ignoring cat dander. Cat hair was cat hair no matter the species of cat, so it worked for all the various types of felines; pollen allergies were far more diverse because there were thousands of different pollen grains.

"That's not a no."

"Not a yes either."

"Let's call it a definite maybe then." She turned the ring over again. "I've always wanted a cat, but my dad's asthmatic and my parents couldn't really afford a pet on top of three children anyway."

Florrie mentioned her siblings every now and then, but Xanxus never pursued the topic; he still hadn't told her about his dead brothers and didn't want to, and that was where a conversation on siblings would inevitably end up. He knew she was the oldest of three and had both a brother and a sister, but had made a point of steering conversations away from such things. She'd definitely noticed, despite not having commented on it yet; Xanxus was sure it would come up eventually.

"Put it on," he urged. "Will walk you through how it works." He'd finally worked out how to remove the security keying a Box Weapon to a specific Flame User –Sky was an all-purpose override but he wanted another Lightning to be able to use Levi's old Box without having to completely rebuild it– and used the knowledge to reinforce the personalisation on the one he'd made for his Cloud. This one wouldn't be hackable by other Skies; only he –and her, once she put the ring on and he opened it with her Flames to key her in the first time– could power it up without it retaliating.

"Fine, fine," his friend conceded, slipping the Box Ring onto her right middle finger. "Now what?"

Xanxus wrapped an arm around her in case the experience took her knees out, caught her hand in his and focused on the Guardian bond binding them together. "Focus on what you want," he murmured, then used the faint tug of clean, fearless focus to push the Box Weapon out into physical existence.

There was a subdued flash of purple-edged orange and then there was a black, subtly mottled cat wrapping itself around Florrie's ankles, purring as it did so.

"Well hello there!" His friend slipped out of his grasp and crouched, offering the kodkod her hand to sniff then petting it behind the ears. The cat allowed it briefly, then leapt up onto her shoulders and settled itself around her neck under her braid.

"Going to name her?" Xanxus asked, offering a steadying hand as his Cloud carefully rose back upright again.

"I'm not exactly good at names for animals," Florrie admitted ruefully. "You're looking at someone who belongs to a family that named the goldfish 'Fish'."

Xanxus snickered; that was funny and so typically Cloudy he almost wanted to risk asking his Guardian more about her family, to find out what they were like.

"I'm not calling you 'kodkod' though," his friend went on, eyes lowering to address the Box Weapon, "because it doesn't exactly flow off the tongue, and 'kod' sounds like a fish so that won't do either."

"Locals call them güiña," Xanxus offered.

"Guinya," Florrie sounded out idly. "I think Gwyn sounds nice, don't you?"

The kodkod nuzzled her cheek and purred.

"Gwyn it is then," his Cloud decided. Not particularly imaginative, but miles better than 'Cat' and Luss called his peacock 'Pea-chan' so it wasn't like there was a particularly high naming standard being set anyway. Variety in actual Names aside, the Varia was not particularly creative when it came to what those names actually _meant_ ; when you had a Squad with three people Named 'bear' and an Immortal Squad whose entire theme was that everybody's Names meant 'wolf' you came to realise that good naming sense was not included in Varia Quality.

"Will stay out of the ring until I recall her or she runs out of energy," Xanxus added, picking up the explanation again, "but she'll pass as a regular cat so shouldn't be a problem. Plus this way you'll have someone to cuddle until I get there."

"Xanxus, are you sure–"

"Yes," Xanxus interrupted firmly. "You're only going to be able to summon her in life-or-death emergencies and if that happens I _want_ to be there with you as soon as possible. You're my Guardian and you _matter_ to me." He took a quick breath. "Please don't take the ring off." He'd added a ton of Mist-security to make sure nobody else could take the ring off her and that people who knew about Box Weapons wouldn't be able to recognise it for what it was, but that wouldn't stop her from removing it of her own accord.

"You really don't like that I'm going to be several countries away do you."

"It's not up to me," Xanxus said shortly; "your life, your choices." He sighed. "Will miss you a lot; will visit too. I'm just not used to the idea yet."

She turned around and hugged him, Gwyn still curled across her shoulders. "I really appreciate you not pushing on the leaving thing," she murmured as he bent down to rest his head against hers. "I've already got a university place lined up and while I do love you, that doesn't mean I'm willing to stunt my own growth to make you feel better."

"I ever try to do that, feel free to kick me," Xanxus told her; "hated it when people did that to me."

"The asshole again?"

"Hm."

"More I hear about him the more I'm tempted to do something petty and destructive."

"Such as?"

"Oh you know; slashing his tyres, seeding his garden with mint or geraniums, possibly adding sugar syrup to the fuel tank of his car and various other cheap and easily-achieved sabotage possibilities."

The idea was tremendously tempting, although it would be Vongola Housekeeping rather than Nono who got inconvenienced, which rather took the fun out of it. "Rather you helped me get out of the upcoming solstice ball."

"There's _another_ one?"

"Twice a year," Xanxus confirmed dryly; "summer and winter. Trying to arrange a mission but might fall through."

His friend hummed thoughtfully. "How about we sit down and have drinks?"

It was hot and the kitchen was north-facing, so would be cooler than the rest of the house. "Sure."

* * *

Once they were both sat at the kitchen table with tea and a bowl of nuts to nibble on –Gwyn having departed to explore the rest of the building– Florrie spoke up again.

"So far as I see it you've got a few options. Option one is just not showing up regardless; yes he'd get on your case over it, but it's not like he can _do_ anything at that point. Not attending those things is your choice and you're your own person. Option two is having a work-related excuse, which you're already looking into. Option three is arranging for some of your people to have an 'emergency' then going to bail them out; Lussuria mentioned that missions get misclassified sometimes, so setting up something with a Squad who _know_ they're under-equipped for a mission from the outset and you getting called in later could be framed as that."

That was a very good idea that could be used several times and had other potential uses besides, such as when people were stingy about what they were willing to pay for a mission that would be very difficult to achieve without a Sky; he'd have to tell Mammon to add it to their list of options. Nobody was going to actually _say_ that they weren't willing to pay extra for the Varia Boss having personally involved himself in their contract, after all.

"Option four is taking advantage of the fact I'm going home next month and everybody _still_ thinks we're dating to take me off somewhere a bit less stiflingly hot that week. Like, I don't know, Tuscany maybe? Anywhere a decent distance from an airport with fun things to see would be fine."

"I like that one." Quiet Week started the Monday following the ball, so taking his 'lover' away for a week before he had to be in-house doing all the end-of-year Vongola garbage and meeting with the old fart looked plausible and practical, especially if he framed it as a saying goodbye thing. Nobody was going to expect him to stay in touch with Florrie after she left the country in July, so being 'gentlemanly' and whisking her away for a week abroad of exclusive him-and-her time to finish things on a high note would fit nicely with the image the gossips had of the relationship. He couldn't take her later since she had to pack and sort out the farm and there wasn't really time to arrange anything earlier than then either; it was going to be hard finding rooms at less than a fortnight's notice as it was, even with his black card smoothing the way. "Where d'you want to go?"

"Somewhere less hot," his friend repeated, "possibly with mountains? Anywhere with old buildings and art I can enjoy where I don't have to do the cooking or the laundry, really."

"France?"

Florrie blinked. "I wouldn't say no; I've only been twice and there's a lot of France to see."

"France then." It was far enough away that he couldn't feasibly be fetched –and that attempting to do so for anything less than a major emergency would be _rude_ – yet close enough that it didn't look like he was seriously skiving off. There was lots of nice French countryside with castles and mountains and winding roads and they could drive rather than take a plane; get the ferry from Palermo to Genoa and the roads northwest from there, staying well inland of the Côte D'Azur. Maybe take the motorbike as well… "Will sort out accommodation." He grinned at her bemusement at how quickly he'd pounced on the idea. "It'll be fun: fewer prying eyes and I get to spend more time with you. Why not?"

"Xanxus, most people can't afford to go on holiday at the drop of a hat."

"Good thing I'm not most people then." He sniggered as she leaned over the table to swipe at him. "Farm will be fine?"

"The trees will need watering and the vegetables and fruit bushes will need picking," Florrie said easily, "but nothing will go disastrously wrong if I don't do either for a week and I'm sure your people are all going to descend on my garden and start picking it clean the moment I'm gone in July _anyway_ , so it's not really a problem if they get started on that a fortnight early."

She wasn't wrong about the Varia all being poised to take advantage of the fruit bushes and vegetable plot the moment she abandoned it; fights were already breaking out over who wanted what. It was completely ridiculous but so very Varia.

* * *

Xanxus commandeered a small van from the garage for his week's holiday with Florrie; vans had more headroom and legroom than cars and the visibility was better, plus there was space in the back for his motorbike as well as their luggage without it being obvious what they were transporting. A flatbed truck for instance would be very memorable and Xanxus didn't want to be. He also signed off all the required paperwork to indicate he would in fact be On Holiday that week rather than simply out of the office, arranged rooms at two different hotels –three nights in each– and shuffled through his passports to decide which of his civilian identities would be the one he associated with his friend.

He eventually settled on the Italian identity card that said he was two years older than he had actually experienced and six years younger than his birth-date implied; Sanctus Amico, translator of technical documents. That the name meant 'holy friend' was the height of irony, but Information loved that kind of thing and 'Sanctus' was close enough to 'Xanxus' that it had already been turning into his go-to passport for more personal trips, such as the visit to Japan for the shark's birthday. After this he would have to permanently designate it as the passport for all things related to his Cloud Guardian, but that was no trouble at all; he could always claim that the discrepancy between the name on the card and his pronunciation was a matter of personal preference or clerical error.

There wasn't much he could do about the 'Amico;' it was at least a fairly common Sicilian surname and he had already admitted to Florrie that, between his mother never using hers and the Vongola name being Interpol bait, he didn't really have a proper surname.

Technically speaking, the old fart's surname _wasn't_ 'Vongola;' Ottava had married after all, so her only child had her husband's surname on his birth certificate. It had been a useful distancing from the infamy of the Vongola name at a time when documentation and surveillance were becoming more rigorous and automated; legally speaking, the latest two generations of Vongola had borne the surname Alia.

If the old fart got his way, they'd be Sawada next. For however long _that_ lasted.

Now all he had to do was warn his Guardians of what he was doing, tell Florrie the dates and times of their departure and return and then get on with the paperwork that needed to be completed and in order for the start of Quiet Week. He'd have to chase down various other Varia for their contributions and make sure his Officers had everything they needed, but they –other than Sumu– were all veterans with a decade of experience of what had to be done. The biggest challenge of this year was that half the General Managers were retiring; it wouldn't make that big of a difference over the summer, but the autumn busy season was definitely going to be bumpy. Being GM involved a lot of networking and resolving interpersonal difficulties both within and between Divisions with the intention of putting the issues to rest before they became Problems; letting things get that bad was asking for some Varia or other to decide to solve matters in a more permanent and lethal fashion or prompt an Officer to get involved and lay down the law.

That was tomorrow's problem though; today he just had to warn his Officers of the short-notice vacation he was taking and its cover story.

* * *

The ferry from Palermo to Genoa took over twenty hours, so Xanxus had booked it for the Sundays at each end of the week; technically they'd be getting on board on Saturday evening and disembarking slightly less late on Sunday afternoon, which left time at both ends for travelling from the port to their intended destination. They wouldn't be reaching the hotel in Avignon until quite late on the Sunday setting out, but getting back would be much quicker and smoother as it was barely an hour from the ferry port in Palermo to the Varia, provided the roads weren't too congested.

He'd booked them into a very fancy hotel in Avignon, since that had been the only place with decent rooms free this late in the season. The other hotel in Digne was less fancy, mainly because Xanxus knew his friend was not particularly comfortable in those kinds of settings; that he'd been able to take advantage of someone's last-minute cancellation had been very convenient there.

Florrie spent the week between him making the bookings and their departure date borrowing travel books from the local library and poring over maps, working out what there was within visiting distance of where they were staying –a lot– and what she actually wanted to see and do. She'd asked him what he wanted to do as well, but Xanxus honestly didn't care much; he mostly limited himself to giving her estimated travel times from one town to the next, pointing out that they could always do this again next year if she wanted to see more and reminding her that they were staying in fancy hotels, not a rented apartment, so there were fewer things she needed to pack. It was Xanxus's money being spent, not Varia funds, so he could splurge at his leisure without needing to justify his expenses to Mammon later.

He wasn't at all surprised that she was bringing along her sketchbooks and watercolours, or that she had decided to take her current patchwork project as well; two whole days on the ferry was bound to get a little dull and there was all the time he was driving from Genoa into France and back again to consider as well. Yes, she could have slept in the car, but her doing sewing meant she'd stay awake and could help him stay awake too, which was considerate.

What gave him a warm, smug feeling was that the boots he'd bought her for her birthday were the only shoes she was taking. Apparently no other footwear came close and while sandals were all very well, the boots were breathable enough that with the right pair of socks, there was no discernible difference in comfort. Which, well, of course there wasn't; they were Varia boots after all, intended to be worn in _all_ weathers. Still it was nice to know that his friend was so enamoured of her present that she was foregoing all other options regardless of fashion.

The boots looked odd with the loose linen trousers his friend favoured in hot weather, but that just added to her charm. Like the floppy floral sunhat did; his Cloud Guardian liked to be comfortable but had a good eye for colour coordination, so she never looked bad. Just a bit eccentric, wearing brown leather calf boots along with skirts or shorts or various styles of lightweight trouser and the perpetual sunhat and shades.

The contrast with him –black leather, rumpled dress shirts and feathers– was pretty funny really. Not that he'd be wearing his Varia uniform on holiday, but he honestly didn't have much else in his wardrobe that he was comfortable with –a few other types of shirt in different fabrics and maybe two pairs of casual trousers– and he was taking his bike, so obviously he'd have to wear leather at least some of the time. They both would, in fact.

* * *

They arrived at the hotel very late and Florrie had refused to nap in the car despite him assuring her that he'd be fine driving up and down the winding mountain roads in the dark without somebody to talk to, so she was exhausted. Xanxus was tired too, but he was used to days like this and his Cloud wasn't. Getting past the concierge was easy, the porter was already taking their luggage from the doorman as Xanxus flashed his card so poised to lead the way to the lift the moment they were given the key, talking quickly but quietly about what the hotel had to offer. Florrie was practically sleepwalking by then, leaning heavily into him as the lift headed up to their floor, uncaring of their audience and sliding into that indifferent and typically Cloudy 'all things between myself and my objective will be disregarded' mood that was an indicator of stress or exhaustion.

It was also an indicator of being Flame-Active –being Active predisposed a person towards extreme moods– but that was another kettle of fish entirely. His friend was just tired from their thirty-hour journey, despite their having slept a little on the ferry at the front end of it.

The moment they reached the room Florrie vanished into the bathroom; Xanxus tipped the porter, closed the door, moved their bags onto the shelf in the wardrobe and then flopped onto the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

Then he got up and turned around, because something had been niggling in the back of his mind.

The room had a double bed. Xanxus groaned; he'd booked hotel rooms hundreds of times, but always as Varia Boss where it didn't really matter what the bed arrangements were like, because assassins slept in shifts anyway and Mists could modify the room for increased space and comfort regardless. He'd not considered that taking a week with a civilian friend might have different accommodation requirements to a two-person week-long mission.

Florrie emerged from the bathroom, smelling slightly of toothpaste. "Problem?" She asked, yawning.

"Messed up on beds," Xanxus admitted, turning towards the couch.

"No." His friend grabbed his sleeve, tugged him around and shoved him towards the bathroom. "I'm tired and it's late; bed's big enough." She then strode over to her suitcase and fished out her pyjamas, tossing them onto the bed and then sitting on the edge of the mattress to remove her boots; Xanxus turned and shut himself in the bathroom before she undressed any further.

Well, if she didn't mind then she didn't mind. He wasn't sure whether this was Guardian bonds making boundaries fuzzy or just a combination of Cloud focus on a desired goal and sexual obliviousness, but it probably didn't matter. Florrie was fine with sharing the bed and Xanxus didn't exactly mind either, so it should be okay.

It was okay. His friend was restless despite her exhaustion –it was often like that sleeping someplace new– and it took them a while to work out what was comfortable in terms of blankets and sheets in the heat, but they both managed to get some sleep in. Xanxus found himself hoping Florrie would not-mind enough to actively discourage him from trying to arrange a new room in the morning; having his Guardian curled up against him, breath slow and mumbling occasionally in her sleep, felt so terrifyingly _right_ he wasn't quite sure what to do about it.

* * *

He woke up in the morning to Florrie rolling out bed far too early –was it even seven yet?! No it wasn't– rolled over and went back to sleep to the sound of the shower in the next room. The next time he woke up it was a much more respectable hour –half-past eight– and there was fresh coffee, his fully dressed Cloud having ordered up breakfast.

"You star," he told her after drinking down his cappuccino, surveying the warm croissants wrapped in a napkin and the range of jams on offer then glancing over at her. "Not eating?"

"I had a big hot breakfast over an hour ago down at the buffet," Florrie told him easily, stitching together variously patterned paper-backed hexagons almost entirely by touch, "and got the waiter to tell me all about where the good restaurants the locals go to are, along with what was good to see at this time of year and not too touristy. I've got a list so you can decide what you think will be fun; I think it all looks equally good, although I do rather want to see the _Palais des Papes_."

"We'll do that this morning, then wander around town afterwards doing whatever," Xanxus decided. "Find pretty buildings for you to sketch." He was happy to do nothing at all and intended to thoroughly enjoy watching his Cloud have fun. Oh, and buy her things; she was getting better at not objecting to that –so long as he was careful and not too obviously extravagant– and it was a better use for his money than just piling up in the bank.

"And buy postcards," Florrie insisted.

"Why postcards?" Xanxus asked curiously, ripping a croissant into pieces and slathering the bits in butter and jam.

His friend smirked naughtily. "To send to our families and friends, to let them know where we are and how much fun we're having, of course," she informed him virtuously.

Xanxus almost choked at the idea of the old fart finding out from a _postcard_ that he was on holiday and wouldn't be attending the solstice ball; it was tremendously tempting. The ball wasn't until Thursday night, but the Italian postal system wasn't exactly known for its promptitude so if he posted something today –even with an expensive stamp– it probably wouldn't arrive until Thursday. At best; unlikely to arrive until the following Monday, in fact. Well, why not?

"Send some to the shark, Bel, Mammon and Luss too," he decided, biting into his food. "And horse," he added after swallowing.

"That's the friend with the stable, right?"

Xanxus nodded. "He's convinced I'm having a fling." It was annoying but also rather funny; he fully intended to get _lots_ of mileage out of the misunderstanding once Cavallone finally caught on. This was something he was far more likely to be able and willing to clarify at some point –Dino was friendly and kept secrets so long as they weren't disclosed within earshot of his men, whom Xanxus trusted far less– than whatever it was Squalo and Sumu were doing with their fake-not-quite-dating thing. The both of them were steadfastly professional to a fault and not controlled by hormones or impulse, which was very mature of them but still something his libido preferred to ignore when it came to inspiring dreams.

"So you're going to write something completely innocuous on the postcard and let his assumptions do the rest." His friend knew him so well.

"Who're you going to write to?" He asked instead.

"My parents and siblings, my two best friends and my grandma; I've only ever visited France with Grandma before now, so telling her that I'm going to places with friends and what I'm seeing feels fair."

Xanxus finished his croissant and started in on another one, smiling fondly as his friend started humming under her breath. It was a cheesily apt tune to have in mind, considering where they were:

 _Sur le Pont d'Avignon, on y danse, on y danse_ …

Once he was finished eating he'd shower and dress, so they could go out and see what was left of that bridge for themselves.

* * *

It wasn't until they got back to the hotel after a long day full of old buildings, fantastic food, friendly teasing and sprawling on benches together that Xanxus remembered he'd intended to arrange for a change of rooms. Which was, like it had been last night, something it was a bit too late to get into right now when all he wanted to do was to sleep.

"Florrie?"

"Hm?"

"Is the bed okay?"

His friend paused. "The bed is very comfortable. Is this about the sharing? Because last night was fine."

"Can still arrange a new room if you'd prefer."

Florrie turned around fully and stared at him searchingly. "Are you asking because you're not comfortable with it or because you think I shouldn't be?"

Xanxus opened his mouth to object to her wording and paused. Last night had, as she had pointed out, been fine. So why was he trying to change things? "Can't put my finger on it," he admitted eventually, frustrated by how elusive the issue was. "Think I'm fine with it though; you're very cuddly."

His Cloud grinned. "Thanks," she said dryly, turning her back on him and undressing.

Xanxus also turned away, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his boots. Today had been restful and he'd really enjoyed it; he was looking forward to getting to spend an entire week doing more of the same.

* * *

The second morning Xanxus woke up first and very deliberately didn't get out of bed, because Florrie was cuddling his arm and he saw no reason at all to disturb her. Her night shirt was also hiked up under her armpits, so there was quite a lot of skin on display. Less than when she wore her bikini, but there was a significant difference in impact between skin showing because you were in swimming gear and skin showing because squirming in your sleep had made your pyjamas ride up.

His Cloud was very fair-skinned and didn't tan at all, but she did freckle a little despite doing her best to slather herself in high-factor sun cream or wear long sleeves and the ever-present sunhat. She had a faint scattering on her shoulders, for instance, invisible unless you were very close, and a few more on her neck and arms. There was a more generous spatter across her cheekbones, slightly darker than the others, but the rest of her face had them too; they were just hard to spot, being faint and hard to notice when the summer heat made Florrie go pink in the cheeks and stay that way all day.

Xanxus quashed the trickle of lust urging him to lick and nibble along the top of his Cloud's shoulder over those faded freckles, inside the loose neck of her pyjama shirt; she was asleep and it was inappropriate. Yes, she did smell _amazing_ and they were in bed together already, but she hadn't agreed to that. She'd agreed to them sleeping in the same space. If she'd been awake for him to ask that would be different, but she wasn't. And no, her being his Guardian did _not_ give him leeway there.

She didn't experience sexual attraction and he didn't even know if she liked the _idea_ of it, so assuming that because his friend liked to cuddle she would be up for casual sex was a really shitty thing to do. So he wasn't doing it and was getting annoyed at the voices in his head for suggesting it. What was it Florrie had said, that it was his upbringing speaking? Well it could damn well piss off and die in a ditch while it was at it.

His friend stirred; Xanxus extracted his arm from her grasp and headed for the shower. Why did his body and brain have to pull this shit on him again? He _liked_ snuggling with Florrie, loved the intimacy and how comfortable it was, yet here was his libido ruining it for him and filling his head with sexual imagery.

If it was just the changed sleeping arrangements that had prompted this then hopefully it would go away if he ignored it. That had worked before when he'd had Stupid crushes on people he knew were trash. Not that Florrie was _anything_ like that scum, but she wasn't interested and he wasn't going to make her uncomfortable.

* * *

His libido deciding to butt in made things different; it added another layer to his enjoyment of riding the motorbike with Florrie as they headed out towards the nearby town of Gordes and lurked under the surface all day, tormenting him with the unintentional subtext of his friend's casual affection and adding matching subtext to his interactions with her. Xanxus had never really _noticed_ before now how very physically affectionate his friend was, how often she leaned into him or placed her hand on his forearm as they walked down the street, how she smiled whenever she looked at him, how often she hugged him or how many times a day she would go up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek as a thank-you for something.

He couldn't not reciprocate; he'd _always_ reciprocated and drawing back would make her think he didn't want her to reach out to him. He also didn't _want_ to stop; she was the only person in his life who was this openly affectionate and her unconscious acceptance of his care and attention meant a hell of a lot to him. The problem was that it all meant _more_ to him now and he was uncomfortably aware that she didn't share the additional subtext.

There wasn't anything he could do about it right now other than compartmentalise and ignore the problem; he didn't want to ruin their holiday on the second day –didn't want to ruin it at all– and he had no idea how to broach the subject with his friend at all. What did he say? Should he just ask?

If he was going to 'just ask' he wasn't doing it in public, or indeed anywhere else where she might feel pressured to give him a quick or placatory answer. On holiday and sharing a bedroom –and bed– really was _not_ the place for that discussion. At _all_.

He'd just have to suffer discreetly.

* * *

Of course, having decided that, he _would_ have a sex dream. One featuring his Cloud Guardian in explicit and uncomfortably realistic detail; he only realised he was dreaming when the version of his friend conjured by his subconscious that he was balls-deep inside started telling him how much she lusted after him, because he knew that wasn't true. He promptly dragged himself back to consciousness, but that just meant he was abruptly wide awake in the middle of the night with a raging boner and his actual real friend asleep in his arms.

It wasn't exactly an improvement.

"Xanxus?"

And he'd woken her up; great.

A hand slid up his chest and around the back of his neck, dancing over the fine hairs there; Xanxus gritted his teeth against the moan that wanted to escape as his blood pounded in his ears. God, this was _worse_ than the dream.

"Xanxus, what's the matter?"

The Varia Boss sighed and gave up on any pretence at dignity, forcing himself to relax a little and tilt his head forwards so their foreheads touched. "I'm in bed with a beautiful woman," he said, trying to keep his tone dryly humorous, "and I have a sex drive."

"Oh." A pause. "Do I apologise?"

Xanxus chuckled at the genuinely sincere question, relieved that she wasn't judging him for it or pulling away. "For being beautiful?"

She dug her fingers into his spine. "No, silly; for not agreeing when you suggested separate beds. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

"Not at _all_ uncomfortable," he retorted; "that's the problem."

She snorted this time. "You know," she mused, a faint undercurrent in her tone catching his attention, "I did mean it when I said that kisses would be very welcome."

Was she. Was she suggesting what he thought she was suggesting? Xanxus licked his suddenly dry lips and wondered if it was the darkness that was making this so very intimate. Sexual attraction and actual physical lust were different things for him, but were they for her?

The prospect of making out with Florrie in the dark, of pulling her close and moulding her mostly-naked body against his as he tasted her lips and explored the inside of her mouth with his tongue… he was so, so tempted.

"Your eyes are glowing," she murmured, her words soft and slightly hoarse. Xanxus looked at her, really _looked_ at her Flames and the twist in her emotions as her fingertips caressed the nape of his neck.

It wasn't quite lust as he experienced it, but she was _definitely_ interested. Physically interested. In him. Not in an objectifying kind of way either; she was curious about how he experienced sexual attraction and pleasure and just a bit turned on by the fact that he was lusting after her. There was something else swirling down in the depths there too, something deeper and darker she probably didn't want him to notice and maybe didn't quite realise was there herself. She wanted to see him unravel; wanted to do the unravelling.

Fuck. That was _hot_.

"I do want to kiss you," Xanxus admitted hoarsely, moving a hand to her face and letting his thumb toy with her lower lip. "I also want you to touch me."

The hand on his nape slid down his throat and out across his shoulder. "Like this?" Feeling her mouth move against his fingers did nothing to quench his desire; if anything it made him want her more.

"Yes," he managed, leaning over to kiss her cheek, then her chin, "and everywhere else you want to touch me." There were still a few threads of good judgement hanging on in the face of the hungry fire in his blood and making her uncomfortable was not the plan, so outright asking her to wrap her fingers around his dick was not on. Her other hand reaching out to rest against his stomach made his abdominals contract and his cock twitch; God but this was _better_ than the dream if ten times more agonisingly slow. This was _real_ and–

–her mouth met his, her tongue flicking out against his lower lip and introspection suddenly got _really_ difficult.

She tasted faintly of toothpaste and the tactile explosion of her tongue against his had him clutching at her, dragging her across the mattress so he could press a hand to her spine and cradle the back of her skull, tilting her head for better access to her mouth. That she was reaching back –an arm around his waist, hand splayed across his ribs and the other hand digging into his clavicle– made him wonder if he was still dreaming.

Then her bare thigh pressed up between his legs and he moaned against her lips, shuddering.

"You like that?"

Killing him. He was going to wake up dead. "You keep doing that and I'll come all over you," he warned hoarsely.

The quality of the silence following his statement was really telling; the hand sliding down his hip to flick the waistband of his boxers even more so.

"Don't think you'd _actually_ come all over me, wearing these," she pointed out teasingly.

"You want me to, don't you." He hadn't meant it as dirty talk but he still felt her shiver.

A pause. "Maybe I'm just curious," his friend murmured, "and maybe that's wrong of me, but if you're okay with it–"

" _Please_."

Her thigh leaned against his cock again; Xanxus shoved his leg over hers so he could press his foot into the back of her knee, forcing her thigh up higher as he kissed her hungrily. She was kissing him back just as eagerly, rocking into him with hands roaming across his back and chest and not pulling away as his hand slid down her spine to cradle her behind and squeeze, pressing her into him with only her rumpled shirt and their respective underwear as flimsy barriers between his skin and hers.

The dark made it about touch and sounds and taste and Flame-sense rather than what he could see with his eyes; her muscles clenching under her skin as he caressed her, the way her heart pounded in her chest, her breathy gasps mingling with his groans and disjointed mumbles, the tactile slide of fabric and skin, the flavour of her mouth and sweat as he broadened his attentions to her throat and shoulders, the enticing thread of _yearning_ he could feel within her.

"Want you to feel this good," he told her in between kissing his way back up her neck. "Want to, to make you gasp, and shake, and sh-shiver. Want you to find out how _amazing_ it feels to come apart with my hands on you. In you." He found her mouth again and tangled his tongue with hers, riding her thigh and trembling as he came up to the brink.

"Florrie, Florrie please, please ple–" She leaned up into him with her thigh, fingertips dipping just under his waistband to tease the skin in the curve of his hip as her other hand found his nipple and it was abruptly too much.

Flopped over his Cloud, shuddering and gasping and clutching desperately at whatever was in reach as his hips bucked and pleasure washed over and through him like a riptide, it took a while before he wandered back to coherency.

Florrie had her arms around his neck and back, pressing gentle kisses to his throat and jaw; Xanxus felt so cherished it almost hurt.

"Hey," he managed, moving a hand to cup her cheek and smooth hair back from her face.

"Back atcha," his Cloud told him, yawning. Xanxus kissed her some more, then rolled out of bed to quickly clean himself off in the bathroom and change; waking up with his boxers stuck to his skin would be no fun at all.

When he got back to bed she was already asleep again, so he draped himself across her back and followed her into dreamland.

* * *

The next day was different; now Florrie was looking at him the same way he'd been looking at her the day before, abruptly aware of the additional subtext between them. She didn't change anything though; in fact she leaned up for a kiss after coming out of the shower and Xanxus got to spend a highly enjoyable twenty minutes making out with her before going for his own wash. Admittedly a rather colder shower than he'd have liked, but her initiating some of those kisses was something he was taking as a good sign.

The day started with a drive to their next hotel to check in –in Digne– and then they spent the rest of the day in the town; it turned out to be market day, so Florrie spent the whole morning browsing the stalls and buying things. There turned out to be a tea stall, which they both ended up spending money at as some of the blends were surprisingly good. After lunch they just wandered around, looking in churches and old buildings, sitting in cafes and stopping in the street every now and then so Florrie could get out her pad and sketch something.

Xanxus enjoyed all of it; holding Florrie's hand and stealing kisses, playing with her fingers and basking in her awareness of him. It was fun and easy and he never wanted it to end.

Going to bed was different too; beyond them being in a new hotel, the intimacy of sharing a bed after what they'd got up to together the previous night added an anticipatory tension to the process. Florrie wasn't really into it though, so Xanxus didn't push; it still felt good to go to sleep snuggled up against her even if she wasn't up for sex.

Arms tight around his ribs and unsteady breathing in the middle of the night woke him up this time.

"Florrie?"

"Don't–" he felt her forehead between his shoulderblades, her breath hot against his skin "–don't move. Please? And don't talk. I need–" a shivery breath that was almost a sob "–I need to say this."

Xanxus didn't move –barely dared to breathe– abruptly terrified that he'd overstepped somewhere without realising it and ruined their entire relationship.

"I love you, okay? I love you so, so much." She was using English, which made the emotional specifics rather ambiguous; probably on purpose. "I can't live without you, you know? You're a massive part of my life now." Okay, so he hadn't fucked up the Guardian thing yet; she wasn't pushing him away. "But I can't" –another tiny sob– "I can't have sex with you. I would like to –I can tell it would be so much _fun_ Xanxus and I _love_ having fun with you– but I can't do it, I'm already far too attached to you and if we had sex I'd be committed, like marriage-and-kids committed and that's unfair because you wouldn't be and we'd both hurt each-other and it would be a great big mess."

Xanxus tried to make sense of that.

"I'm not, not explaining it very well, am I?" Florrie continued, another choked sob making Xanxus's heart ache. "I just… sex is commitment to me. Permanent commitment. I can't make it be casual; I know it's not like that for you and there's nothing wrong with that; we're different people. But I want to get married and have kids and you don't, and to me sex _means_ getting married and having kids. Which isn't what it means to you at all. I love the kissing and the casual touching but you want more than that and I can't. I'm already really pushing it but, I'm still comfortable with where we are right now. I'm fine with being one of many, one of your Guardians. But if I actually go ahead and ignore my instincts and have sex with you, or maybe even do any more sex-things with you, that won't be enough anymore. I'd want to be the most important person in your life and I'm _not_ okay? I know I'm not and that's fine, I'm not expecting to be. But if we went ahead I'd _want_ to be and that would hurt so much. So we're not going there, okay?"

Xanxus breathed. This was a boundary. A boundary he hadn't expected but probably should have; Clouds got really insanely possessive about Territory and commitment and it was a good thing that Florrie had been able to articulate this before he messed it up. It _was_. She hurt –he could feel her hurting– but she wasn't broken. If she hadn't worked this out he could very easily have broken her –broken their whole relationship– and while he would probably be grateful later, right now he just hurt. Because he'd gone and fucked everything up again with his Stupid libido and making assumptions.

"Okay?" She repeated, worry clear in her voice.

"Okay," he promised quietly, reaching a hand around behind himself to stroke his knuckles down her back. "I love you too. Thank you for explaining things." He licked his lips. "Can I hug you?"

She let go of him. "I," she sniffled, "I _really_ need a hug right now."

Xanxus rolled over and wrapped his arms around her, rocking and kissing her hair as she sobbed miserably in his arms. This was awful and painful and he felt terrible about accidentally pushing Florrie into a corner over this, but at least she was still here. She was still here and still his and sex didn't matter that much anyway; it had just been him being selfish. His Stupid wanting more than he had already had hurt Florrie and now he had to try to help her feel comfortable all over again, while they were far away from any of her safe, familiar spaces.

He was such a fucking _moron_.

* * *

The following morning was cloudy and windy for their trip to the Verdon Gorge, which suited Xanxus's introspective mood very well. If he'd been at the Varia he'd have spent the day in the forge, but he was on holiday in France with Florrie so he borrowed her spare sketchpad and a pencil, sat back-to-back with her at various points along the scenic route along the gorge and steadily worked his way through designing the circuitry for the Flame-inverting machine he wanted to build for desensitisation therapy as she painted the view below.

The sun came out around eleven o'clock, which also prompted the arrival of more people; Xanxus ignored them, which Florrie made easier by being engrossed in her art and therefore equally antisocial.

It was a very quiet day compared to the previous ones, but by the end of it Florrie was almost back to treating him with the same absent-minded intimacy as before he'd ruined everything so that was something. He also had a design for the Zero-Point machine; he hadn't expected to get this far with it but it seemed that his friend's steady presence had helped him stave off the shakes and the flashbacks. That was helpful to know; shark might not be able to substitute there though, since he'd been present both times Xanxus had been frozen and brains weren't rational about trauma.

The next two days picked up from there, visiting more little towns and driving around the French countryside on his motorbike, but Xanxus didn't feel like it quite got back up to the artless joy of their first day in Avignon. Then again, in other ways it was better; he'd pinned down a few more of Florrie's boundaries so as to respect them in future, managed to avoid a major breakdown in their relationship and set the tone for the months to come: they would make it work and they would communicate, even when it was really difficult, because they each trusted the other to listen and not to hold the relationship hostage.

It was a good precedent, if a painful one. Xanxus would probably feel better about it once the sting had eased a little more.

At least the trip had served his purpose; he had avoided another of those Stupid solstice balls and evaded the old fart on yet another social occasion, for all that he probably wouldn't be able to get away with sending the shark in his place come Quiet Week.

* * *

The meeting with the old fart on the first day of Quiet Week went. It was less bad than the previous year, when the elderly fucker had been trying to con him into forfeiting his integrity for Chew Toy's benefit, but it still wasn't great. There were exactly two high points: firstly, telling the old fart about the new branching out into non-lethal services and how profitable it was turning out despite barely having been on the books for three months and getting to see the man completely wrong-footed by the revelation, and secondly that his so-called father clearly _hadn't_ noticed that he'd picked up a Cloud Guardian.

He'd divined the second one mainly because if the old fart had noticed, he _would_ have commented. Then there were the elderly fucker's 'concerns' about his 'ongoing relationship' with a civvie where it was evident that the Vongola's Intelligence specialists hadn't been able to pin down any actual facts involving Florrie, so had resorted to cataloguing the rumours by plausibility. Xanxus suspected he had Bel to thank there; his Storm had long since assumed responsibility for Patrol –which was monitoring the boundaries of Varia Territory and making sure nobody was doing anything that went against their Rules– and ensuring that a fellow Guardian could not be turned into collateral and used against his Sky was something Prince the Ripper would consider an obvious aspect of that duty.

Hearing the old fart be so entertainingly wrong made the whole experience more bearable, as he got to twist the truth in plausible yet inaccurate shapes and see them be _believed_ because the Stupid scum trusted his assumptions more than his instincts, despite all the inborn advantages that Vongola blood was supposed to provide. It gave Xanxus a savage sense of vindication to watch the man who billed himself as benevolently omniscient and wise blather on about complete _garbage_ and believe every word of it. Yes, it meant trouble for the Family that its Don was so blinded by his own ego, but the senile shithead shouldn't have been spying on him in the first place so it was his own damn fault for not just _asking_ Xanxus in the first place. Like normal people who thought they had a right to know what he was up to did; like horse and the various Alliance Dons had _done_ , in fact. He'd been far less deceptive in response to their straightforwardness.

Xanxus still had to spend the entire afternoon in the forge simmering down afterwards; old fart got on his every last nerve.

* * *

"I have decided, in light of my data entry assistant leaving the country next week, that it is past time to reorganise my priorities," Mammon informed him, the four-year-old sitting cross-legged on Xanxus's desk so as to be at eye level with the Varia Boss. "My growth spurt has been steady for the past year, but we do not know if it will remain consistent in future and it is already sufficiently energy-intensive that I am no longer able to take missions."

"What did you have in mind then?" Xanxus asked, having a pretty good idea as to the answer of his question but wanting to hear it from his Guardian.

"I am temporarily stepping aside as Mist Officer for a few years," the former Arcobaleno said briskly. "Maínomai will replace me; Kuchisake is already considering retirement and training up Hoax as her successor as Mist Squad Leader. I will continue to manage the Varia's finances and oversee Security, of course." Going into Housekeeping in other words; conserving their time and energy for the various growth spurts that were likely to be coming along regardless of whether the current rate of aging was maintained or escalated, rather than spending it training or overseeing the training of Mist Division. Which boiled down to 'stepping aside for health reasons' because with the double speed growth rate, the risk of malnutrition and the consequences thereof were all too possible a side-effect. Trying to take missions while exhausted was Stupid and clearly naps weren't enough to compensate, so a temporary retirement from the more high-effort duties made perfect sense.

"Asked him yet?"

Mammon sniffed. "Of course not; he would refuse. I am _telling_ him as soon as our meeting is over, then walking him through his duties."

Xanxus snickered, reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a Box Weapon; he'd suspected this might be coming and had prepared. The Varia Boss had spent a few days reviewing his assassins and evaluating those likely to be tapped for promotion before even starting to make Boxes, let alone arming them with appropriate animals.

"For your successor," he told his Guardian, grinning at the pout on their face at the proof that they'd been more transparent than they realised. The veteran Mist in question wasn't a Squad Leader but was nonetheless the most likely to be picked out of those with potential regardless of the criteria being used: he had skill, experience, reserves, intelligence and was very personable besides.

"I should have known," the diminutive miser huffed, accepting the ring regardless. "Hummingbirds?"

"Suit him," Xanxus said mildly; Maínomai was hyperactive and flighty and tended to babble, but he was also ferociously loyal to those he'd claimed as his own and utterly without hesitation in obliterating enemies. There'd be an adjustment period as the veteran adapted to having the entire Division as 'his' rather than just the Squads he belonged to, but the Varia Boss did not doubt for a second that the bouncy Mist would have absolutely zero trouble keeping his subordinates in line; Maínomai was terrifyingly competent and had a very skewed perception of what counted as proportionate. All of Mist Division knew it and they wouldn't want him aimed their way.

Mammon sniffed again, but still pocketed the Box Weapon. "Now that's sorted out I will go over the finances," they announced. Xanxus accepted the proffered stack of papers and leafed through them quickly, then turned back to the beginning so that his Mist could provide him with additional details.

There was a lot of work to be done in Quiet Week after all.

* * *

Squalo was five minutes into his meeting with Boss when the Sky abruptly got to his feet, scooped up all the paperwork and headed for the door.

"Vooi! Where're you going!" the Rain Officer demanded, jumping to his feet

Boss glanced back over his shoulder, one eyebrow arched and face witheringly flat.

Squalo huffed; fine, so there was only one place Boss ever went these days. That still didn't mean it was okay to take the Varia paperwork over to Florrie's! "That's confidential paperwork!"

"So are the accounts," Boss pointed out flatly, turning away from him. "Keep up."

Squalo snarled but hurried out after his Sky. Clearly the meeting over what had gone down in Rain Division in the past year and the progress being made by R&D –both in-house and through liaisons with Vongola R&D– was going to get discussed over Florrie's kitchen table. Or possibly over her coffee table, depending on what she was doing as they arrived. Squalo wasn't really worried about keeping shit confidential –Florrie barely spoke four languages, they just had to pick one she didn't know– but he was more than a little concerned how Boss was going to cope once his Cloud wasn't living just down the road anymore.

They reached the farmstead to find a skimpily-dressed Florrie bent over a notepad at the kitchen table, surrounded by what looked like the entire contents of her cupboards. "I thought you were working?" She asked bluntly, glancing up and pencil flicking between her fingers.

"Want to be where you are," Boss replied equally bluntly.

"Take the sitting room or sit outside; I'm trying to use up or find homes for things," the Cloud told them shortly. "I'll sort out tea in a moment."

Squalo glanced around at the odds and ends of baking ingredients, condiments, spices and various half-empty jars of this and that and decided it would be safer not to comment. Boss however clearly liked living dangerously:

"Housekeeping will take everything perishable you don't want to keep."

Florrie glared up at him. "I know that, Xanxus; I'm trying to decide what I want to do with what I've got _before_ I let them walk off with what's left."

The Sky raised a hand in surrender and she huffed, but went back to her work. Squalo followed Boss into the sitting room, which was dark due to Florrie keeping the blinds closed to keep out the summer heat. The Rain Officer opened those windows not already opened, fiddled with the blinds a little to let in a bit more light then sat down on the tiled floor by the coffee table; it was more comfortable than the chairs in this weather anyway.

Boss settled on the couch, actually kicked off his boots and spread the files out across the coffee table. "Turnover," he prompted in Russian.

Squalo launched into explaining who had died, who was retiring, who had been promoted and who had been Named over the past year, going into slightly more detail on the new Squad Leaders and their skill sets; those were the people Boss needed to know about after all. From there the conversation shifted into training, Squalo's plans for his Division in the coming year and where Boss wanted to take the Varia in the next twelve months.

Florrie brought them a jug of tea about half an hour in, setting the tray on the floor and leaving them to it without so much as a word, although Boss had tugged her over for a quick kiss before letting her leave again. Squalo made a mental note to talk to his fellow Guardian about her upcoming departure later in the week, preferably when their Sky was in a meeting with somebody else; Florrie was meeting some of Boss's needs that nobody else had been, needs that would still need meeting after she was no longer as accessible. Whether Boss would let anybody else step into the gap was still up in the air, but Squalo had to try.

He had to admit though that it _was_ nice to sit in the farmstead and drink Florrie's tea as they went over the paperwork, rather than be in Boss's office up at the Varia. It felt more homely and put some distance between the decisions they were making and the effect those decisions would have on the unspoken but ever-present uncertainty of Chew Toy's upcoming succession. Sky-trash had by some miracle gotten into high school despite his abysmal grades –Squalo suspected bribery, or else the Hibari-brat taking steps to ensure his Sky would not be permitted to escape his authority just yet– but that didn't mean Nono would allow his chosen heir to finish his education.

Squalo also suspected that once Chew Toy was sixteen he'd find himself being pressured into taking ever-longer leaves of absence to visit the Vongola and gradually falling ever further behind, until he dropped out entirely and found himself stuck. Squalo might have left school at fourteen to lead the Varia but he'd still taken and passed his Baccalaureate in the year after joining, so he _had_ technically graduated high school! He had even managed to complete a university degree on the side since then! Being on bed-rest for months last year had admittedly sped that up, but he'd still _done_ it!

Squalo gave the trash two years to notice the prison bars closing in around him before the breakdown hit; if Nono could hold on to the Family until Chew Toy was eighteen then he would, because having his heir be of age would make things much less difficult for him. However that still wasn't a given; Timoteo Vongola was already in his seventies and death could come at any time, either from illness or misadventure if not from assassination. Don Vongola's legs hadn't been in the best shape even before Boss was defrosted and a bad fall could put an end to Nono's day-to-day presiding over Family and Alliance matters in a way that no amount of Guardians could cover or compensate for.

Well, Boss was helping the Alliance brace for impact and sword-brat was doing what he could on the other end with Mist-girl, so things were as stable as they were ever going to be. Squalo was better off focusing on the things he _could_ control.

* * *

Squalo fitted in the visit to Florrie two days later, leaving the Varia just as Boss's meeting with Bel kicked off at eight in the morning. He arrived to find her fully dressed and looking like she hasn't slept at all, surrounded by so much freshly-baked food he couldn't quite believe it. The smell was amazing.

"Voi, did you sleep?"

The Cloud rolled her eyes. "Of course not; it's actually cool enough to think at night and I wanted to get things done; I'm going to bed now."

Not unreasonable –if a little irrational since it wouldn't be that much cooler at night if she'd had the oven on constantly and been busy from dusk until now– but Squalo had a few things to discuss with her first. "Here," he balanced the Varia encrypted satellite phone and charger on top of a stack of plastic boxes full of stew, "you're on Boss's contract; Mammon set it up." Had in fact had it all set up already when Squalo visited the miser to ask; sneaky Mist pre-empting his request. "Keep it for talking to Boss and emergencies."

"What if I lose it?"

"You can't; Mammon Bound it to your ring, so as long as you're wearing the ring the phone will turn up back in your pockets or bag." Florrie might be living outside the Varia but she was still well within the reach of Mammon's Territories, so the Mist hadn't even needed to do it in person. "And if you think Boss hasn't put all the security he can think of on that ring so it won't come off your finger unless you specifically take it off yourself without being under duress, then you don't know him at all."

"No, that I suspected," Florrie sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I just don't know enough specifics of Flame things to know how he'd achieve that; my guess was that he used Harmony to make the ring a part of me on a quantum level, so I _couldn't_ leave it behind."

Squalo had not considered that. He'd not in fact _ever_ considered how Harmony could be applied to atomic and subatomic physics; had Boss? He should mention it and see what happened. Experimenting with Flames to create new techniques or applications was a Varia-wide pastime and there was much less on Sky Flames by dint of Skies being so very rare, so Boss had plenty of room to explore in.

"Was there anything else, Squalo?"

"Yes. Is Boss going to let me do any of the stuff you do for him when you're not here?" Florrie was direct so she'd appreciate him being direct back to her. Cloud manners were all about bluntness, unless they were invested and trying to be considerate because then they got awkward. Time spent with Sumu and her minions had made that very clear; even politically trained Clouds were very direct for all they were more polite about it.

The Cloud sighed, turned around and grabbed a mug of cold tea. "Some of it, maybe? The rest of it…" she bit her lip, took a sip and stared assessingly at him.

Squalo waited patiently, folding his arms and keeping his senses open. Florrie was a civilian, it was true, but she had a thick streak of ruthless pragmatism that any Quality assassin would be proud of. It was probably something to do with her upbringing, as while ruthlessness could be innate or simply embraced as logical, practicality was born of knowing your own limits and being conscious of the limits of others, then making plans to work with and around those limits as effectively as possible.

"If he wanders into your office just ignore him," she said eventually. "He gets defensive about the fact that he's human and needs to be around people, so if he reaches out go with it. If he gets too touchy-feely for how you're feeling just shake him off or move out of reach, but don't _say_ anything, unless it's to lay down a boundary; he'll get defensive if you comment and never do it again. At least to begin with; once he's confident that you're fine with it and won't make fun of him he'll banter back, but you have to work up to that." She paused, licking her lower lip nervously.

"Voi, just spit it out." So awkward, seriously, because she cared too much to want to risk possibly messing up.

Florrie sagged. "Look, a big part of why he's comfortable with me is because I'm a girl, okay? His relationship with the asshole who raised him was utter shit and it's fucked with his expectations of and interactions with other men, but I'm guessing he was never around women much after leaving his mother because the baggage I run into when I'm with him is exclusively mother-related or sex-related; mostly he's really respectful and gives me all the leeway."

Oh that was so personal Squalo wanted to _cringe_ but he'd asked. Made sense too; Nono's wife had been dead for years and he didn't have any daughters, so the only women Boss had been around growing up were the retired Ottava –who had taken no shit– and Vongola Housekeeping's maids, who were working women and therefore to be allowed their space. Nono's now-dead sons having been shitheads probably hadn't helped Boss either.

"That said," and there was that level, measuring look again, "you could probably bypass some of that. Maybe."

"How?"

"By having sex with him."

Squalo gaped.

"I mean, if you're into that," Florrie added scrupulously.

Squalo had not considered that as a possibility; before the freezing he'd been fourteen and utterly sword-crazy, after the defrost Boss had still been a furious, flailing fifteen-year-old –and later an irritable, hyper-defensive sixteen-year-old– and Squalo had been _twenty-two_ and fuck no, he'd not even _thought_ about it. You did _not_ fucking go there with teenagers once you were past twenty. His Sky wasn't even _eighteen_ yet!

"Why are you suggesting I fuck Boss?" he demanded, hearing the plaintive note in his own voice and wishing it hadn't been so clearly audible.

"Because while our Sky has a whole raft of really terrible sex-related issues, if he trusts you enough to let you have sex with him then he'll trust you enough to be intimate in other ways." The Cloud sighed. "I only realised it in retrospect, but a big part of why he likes me so much is I just don't see him sexually. If fact that's probably a big part of why he _wanted_ to have sex with me; I don't objectify him."

Squalo tried to get his head around that; it was surprisingly easy.

"You don't see him as a conquest or a prize either and you're here and he trusts you," Florrie went on, "and you don't seen the type to really be comfortable with the kind of casual snuggling Xanxus and I do a lot of, but if you can get across that you'd be open to sex…" she trailed off meaningfully.

"He's _seventeen_ and I'm twenty-four."

"Would his being eighteen be better?"

"Yes!"

The Cloud shrugged. "Then tell him that once he's comfortable enough to come onto you; clarity will get you everywhere."

Squalo paused. "You're being suspiciously casual about Boss not being heterosexual." He hadn't even _realised_ his Sky was into men as well as women. Hadn't really noticed because he knew from experience that being a teenage male meant your dick was reacting to everything and nothing at all as a sexual stimulant –which could show in a person's Flames as a reflex reaction– and Boss was firmly professional at the Varia and on missions, so Squalo had shoved everything he _had_ noticed into a mental box marked 'puberty; not my business.'

Florrie blinked at him. "Beauty and attraction is not dependent on gender; what does being a man or a woman have to do with any of it?"

Oh well that explained everything; she wasn't even _slightly_ straight so didn't consider that other people might not be as unapologetically bisexual –was it still called 'bisexual' if the person wasn't sexually attracted to anybody? He should ask Luss– as she was. "Why are you so sure Boss likes men as well as women?" And why did she think Boss was into _him_ specifically?

"He agreed with me about you being gorgeous, then brought you round and outright called you eye-candy." She grinned slyly; "among other things, some shared in confidence."

Squalo remembered the eye-candy thing; he just hadn't considered their Sky might be including himself in the people who would be appreciating the view. Thought it was just more of Boss being his usual asshole self; clearly it _was_ , but there'd been layers of serious underpinning the assholery, probably hidden on purpose so nobody would call him out on them. Well fuck. "Have you had sex with him?"

Florrie shifted uncomfortably. "Not really; I'm not a casual person and he doesn't want to marry, so." Her eyes dropped to her tea.

In other words, Boss wasn't anywhere near mature enough yet to consider making that kind of lifelong commitment and Florrie was far too much a Cloud to let somebody in that close without demanding complete loyalty in return; that was fair enough. "And you're fine with me doing this?"

The Cloud finished her drink and set the mug aside. "He's not dating me, so who he has sex with is his business; I just want him to be happy," she said evenly. "But even if he does decide he wants you that way I don't think he's going to stop wanting kisses and intimacy from me, so are _you_ okay with that?"

"Yes." Obviously; they were both Boss's Guardians and it wasn't like that was ever going to change, regardless of who else their Sky was fucking.

"Then we're fine." Florrie yawned. "Can I go to bed now?"

"Yeah, whatever." Squalo suspected he was going to end up calling his fellow Guardian on the regular as well, for extra insight into their Sky; he could read Boss's moods perfectly but that didn't mean he knew what had set them off or how to mitigate them, which Florrie clearly had a very good handle on. The few blowups he knew of had been defused very handily shortly afterwards, so she definitely had a knack for it.

"D'you want some food to take back with you?" The Cloud asked, loading some of the food boxes into her fridge, pocketing her new Varia phone on her way past and carrying the rest of the boxes to the pantry.

"Why not, your cooking always tastes good." It would also stand up as an excuse for visiting, since Boss would definitely notice even if Florrie didn't say anything. He could even take some of it to Boss directly and save the kitchen staff the hassle of trying to cook a steak to the Sky's exacting standards; Boss always ate Florrie's food, regardless of what it was. Take things for more people than just Boss, even, since there was so much of it.

"Help yourself to the baked stuff then; just leave the loaves, I need those." With that she closed the pantry door and walked out of the kitchen.

Squalo promptly stole an empty crate from the pantry, lined it with clean tea towels and loaded it up with fig rolls, fig bread, the two large Bucellato –leaving the small one for her– half the chocolate biscuits, all of the fresh _sfincione_ –barring one decently-sized rectangle for her to reheat later– and half the breadsticks; he was going to extract so _many_ favours from his fellow veterans if they wanted a share of this haul.

* * *

On the Sunday after Quiet Week Xanxus slipped down to Florrie's first thing in the morning and spent four hours sitting on her bedroom floor, watching her sleep and wishing selfishly that she wasn't going away. Once she woke up he would help her pack –and possibly arrange for her to get a new suitcase since he'd certainly bought her enough new clothing and other gifts to warrant one– assure her that he was going to visit regularly and that he wished her the very best at university, but right now he was wallowing.

He didn't want her to go. He wanted her to be here, where he could see her every day and talk to her whenever he wanted, eat her cooking, take her out on his motorbike, help her in the garden and watch her sketch. But she wanted to go and Xanxus refused to cage his Cloud, so away was where she was going. For the next three years.

She was his Guardian. She would come back. He still didn't like her leaving though.

A nasty voice in the back of his mind was urging him to seduce her, to bind her to him with sex and honeyed promises so she didn't leave at all, but the Varia Boss refused to take that route. He wouldn't abuse his Cloud like that, wouldn't string her on with words he didn't mean and that she'd know were insincere even though she'd like to hope otherwise. She was his already; she'd come back without that. She'd welcome him whenever he visited and let him stay, because she was part of his home now and he was hers too.

He had to trust that. He refused to be the old fart and he _would_ trust his Guardians, even when there were no guarantees being offered or Mist-enforced promises being made. He _had_ to, or else why was he even her Sky? He owed her too, owed her freedom and strength and unconditional support. Not unquestioning –Florrie had taught him that you could question without undermining or dismissing– but still unconditional. Like she gave him her unconditional support, her love and never presumed to dictate to him.

They were family, not just Family. He had to hold to that, to dare to trust and pray he wouldn't be disappointed. Just like Florrie had done when she'd befriended him in the first place.

She was so brave; he couldn't let himself be any less so.

* * *

AN: I am currently working on the continuation of this, featuring what happens in Xanxus's ongoing recovery while Florrie is at university, which I hope to have finished by August. No promises though.


	9. Sequel notice

**Sequel notice**

This is to let you all know that the sequel to this story, titled 'Pick up the Pieces and Move On,' will be posted in its entirety in daily updates starting this coming Friday (not including Sunday, of course). See you all there!


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